Welcome To The Jungle - Part Nine: Underway - WestPac 1990 (Pt. 2)

 HALFWAY THROUGH  DEPLOYMENT - SO MANY STORIES LEFT TO TELL...

A standard Fresno night at D'Office.  This was the night I got my tattoo - 01MAY90

Friday, 13APR90 – P.I.

ñ  Payday - $152.00

ñBought speakers

ñ  Mail Call – nothing

ñ  Soccer Game – lost 6-4

ñ  Lorena – D'Office

ñ  Slept at D'Office

ñ  Had T-bone dinner

Lucky Friday the 13^th!  It was payday, so it couldn’t be all bad.  Since we still hadn’t landed enough helos to qualify for our hazardous duty bonus, I got the standard $152.00 – not a lot, but enough to keep me in trouble for another couple of weeks.  I still had some money left over from my tax check, but that quickly disappeared when I went over to the base exchange with Jon Grace to buy speakers for our new stereo systems.  The exchange was having a huge sale on all of their Bose speakers, and I had my sights set on a pair of 901’s.  Unfortunately, they were still $800 a pair – more than I could afford.  Jon and I ended up each buying a pair of their new AM-5 speakers – they were tiny little cube satellite speakers with a big subwoofer you could hide behind the furniture.  They were really loud, so I loved them.  And for $450, I couldn’t go wrong!  I had my college stereo system ready to go – a huge Kenwood rack system with Bose speakers!  I had paid just under $1500 for the whole thing (counting the surround sound amp & speakers I would buy in Hawaii).  When I got back to the states, I priced the exact same system in a mall in Fort Collins, CO, and found it was almost $3500!!  Thank God for the ability to buy factory direct and duty-free in a military exchange.

After buying our speakers, and lugging them back to the ship, it was time to get changed and hustle over to the soccer field for our next game.  I don’t know why I bothered to show up (other than the fact that I was the coach), because we got our asses handed to us again, 6 to 4.  At least we scored this time.  Any improvement was a good thing…I guess.  We walked back to the ship after the game, not feeling quite as bad as we had last time, but not on top of the world, either.  We felt just about good enough to shower, change and go get drunk.  And that’s exactly what we did.

After dinner on base - 13APR90

Before we hit town, Grace and I decided to eat a big dinner at the restaurant on base.  The base had an Italian restaurant and steak house over by the base club.  The food was pretty decent – but there was only so much you could do with Government-issued food, no matter how you tried to disguise it.  I ended up eating a T-bone that night – it wasn’t bad, but definitely not a 5-star steak house meal.  It was just nice to have something a little heavier than lumpia, fried rice and barbecued monkey-on-a-stick in your stomach before you went out drinking for the evening.  At least we would have something solid to throw up later!

SN Ford on stage with a bar girl at D'Office as the Mama-San tries to get him to stop - 1990

That night turned out to be yet another D’Office night, as our bar-hopping ended right where it started.  The rum and cokes flowed freely, and the Clint Black blasted on the stereo – only to be interrupted by our other West Pac unofficial theme song – “Love Shack” by the B-52’s.  We would change the lyric “Goin’ to the Looove SHACK!” to “Goin’ on a Weeeesst PAC!”.  It fit – especially if you sang it at the top of your lungs when you were absolutely chewed!  Try it sometime – you’ll see. 

More Olongapo shenanigans - 1990

My honeyko, Mercy, had the night off.  I ended up trying to hook up with one of the other bar girls at D’Office – a girl named Lorena.  Unfortunately, Mercy had informed them that I was hers, and none of the girls would have anything to do with me!  I tried as hard as I could to get Lorena to leave with me, but she wouldn’t hear of it.  She did, however, get me free drinks all night, and I ended up getting chewed beyond belief.  I was so drunk, as a matter of fact, that I ended up passing out at the bar in D’Office!

Lucky for me, the Mama-San had a little experience with passed-out sailors.  She (and a few others, I’m sure) escorted me to one of the booths by the stage and let me stretch out and fall asleep for the night there.  Looking back on it, it was a pretty dumb thing to do – passed out at the bar on payday, with a pocket full of cash.  I guess it was a good thing that the D’Office staff had adopted the Fresno, and they looked out for all of her stupid, drunken sailors.  I slept there, in that booth, all night, and the Mama-San woke me up in time to get back to the base for work the next morning. 

When she woke me up and I came to, I stood up, and reached quickly for my wallet.  It was gone!  I had been robbed!  I was pissed – but before I could say anything, the Mama-San reached behind the bar and pulled out my wallet.  She had taken it out of my pocket and stored it for me so that no one would steal my money. It was at this exact moment that I realized this was the bar for me – any place that would keep its customers from getting ripped off like that was alright in my book!  I guess they knew that they’d be getting all of our money anyway, and they were willing to wait for us to give it to them willingly, rather than risk stealing it from us all at once, and ruining any chance of us coming back next time we were in port.  I just thought it was a very nice gesture on their part – and I didn’t forget it.  I spent a LOT more of my money in D’Office after that night.

Saturday, 14APR90 – P.I.

^ñ   Played flag football – won 1^st game, lost 2^nd

ñ  Did laundry

ñ  Mail Call – nothing

ñ  Got pictures developed

ñ  Lorena – D'Office

ñ  Got Chewed

Another slow, lazy Saturday in the P.I..  I made it back to the ship around 7:00am, thanks to Mama-San and her built-in “sailor don’t miss quarters” alarm clock.  Since it was a liberty Saturday and we didn’t have to work, I took the opportunity to crash for a couple more hours in my rack, which was a lot more comfortable than the corner booth of D’Office.  I finally got up around 10 and made my way up for a shower.  Once I had cleaned up, I was beginning to feel almost human again.  I started making plans for the day – basically just figuring out which bar I’d give my money to – when a couple of the guys from the soccer team came down and found me. 

“You ready, Pete?” 

“For what?” 

“The game.” 

“We’ve got a soccer game today?” 

“No, you idiot – flag football.  You signed up for it, now let’s go” 

I had completely forgotten that I had signed up to play on the ship’s flag football team!  I grabbed my cleats and headed out to the base rec center field for the game.

 When I got to the field and joined my team, I found out that it wasn’t just one game – it was a round-robin tournament, and we would play as many games as we could win.  It was around 100 degrees and humid as hell outside, and they expected us to play football for the next eight hours!  I was hoping we’d lose the first game and be eliminated, but no such luck.  For the first damn time, a Fresno team actually won a game!  My prayers, however, were answered in the second game as the heat, combined with the hangovers and the complete lack of physical conditioning caught up to us, and we got slaughtered.  We all had a good laugh, then went back to the ship, showered up and got ready to go out for the rest of the afternoon and evening. 

 Unfortunately, I discovered a slight problem after my shower – I had no more clean clothes – all of my civvies were dirty.  Since the ship did our uniform laundry for us, it was easy to forget to find a laundromat when you were in port to wash your civilian clothes.  You would usually remember about the time your laundry bag was ready to burst, and then end up spending ten hours washing clothes - or bribe one of the SH’s into letting you use the ship’s laundry machines!  Since I wasn’t really buddies with any of the SH’s, I found my cleanest dirty shorts and t-shirt, put them on and grabbed my HUGE bag of dirty clothes, and headed out to the base laundromat.

 As luck would have it, the base laundromat was right next door to the base package store, and doing your laundry usually entailed at least one visit to the beer coolers.  There were more than a few Fresno sailors doing their laundry at the same time, and we made a party of it.  Nothing like trying to remember to separate your whites from your colors after two hours of playing quarters!  As the sun went down, and the true party time hit – my last load of laundry came out of the dryer.  I folded (or at least attempted to fold) my clothes and loaded up my bag for the hike back to the ship.  When I got  to our berthing area, I was feeling the beer, the heat and the weight of my load.  I was about to pass out – but then I remembered the two cans of beer I’d hidden in my laundry bag.  I dropped the clean clothes on my rack, fished out the cans and slugged one down right where I stood.  The other can, I hid in my pocket, as I left the ship again and headed for Magsaysay.  I walked down the pier, and across the base toward the Main Gate, and I opened the other beer and slugged it down as well.  There’s just something about a hot spring night in the tropics that makes a beer go down smooth as Hell!

 Walking down Magsaysay, I was feeling no pain.  I hit a couple of random bars – more to find a cold beer than to find a place to hang out.  A six-pack and a dozen sticks of monkey meat later, I found myself at the front door of my new home – D’Office.  Mercy wasn’t working again, so I took my usual seat at the bar and forked over ten pesos for a rum and coke.  I caught the eye of my other favorite D’Office girl, Lorena, and had her come sit down next to me to keep me company as I drank myself into oblivion once again.  Lorena sat with me most of the rest of the night – just waiting for me to pay her barfine and take her to a hotel.  She promised me that she wouldn’t tell Mercy, so it was okay, and I kept telling her I would, but then another rum and coke would get in the way, and I’d forget about it. 

SN Darkbull and a bar girl at The Body Shop in Olongapo - 1990

SN Powell and GMG1 Williansen at D'Office - 1990

 The next thing I knew, I was in absolutely NO shape to do anything with her even if I could have afforded to pay for her barfine, so I bid her farewell and started the long, drunken shuffle back to the ship. There were three or four of us making the trip back – safety in numbers - and we made it back on board around 03:00 in the morning.  The next day was a Sunday, and a duty day for me, so I set my internal alarm clock to hear reveille.  Amazing how well that thing worked – I woke up right on time the next morning.

 Sunday, 15APR90 – P.I.  (Duty)

ñ  Hooked up stereo in armory

ñ  Mail Call – nothing

ñ  Mailed letter to Janet

ñ  Mid Watch

 I may have risen on time, but I refused to shine.  As a matter of fact, I woke up with an ashtray for a mouth and a head about to split open.  For some reason, the combination of extreme physical exertion and the dehydrating effect of too much alcohol, lead to an unbelievable hangover!  I hadn’t felt this bad in a long, long time.  I thanked my stars that it was a duty day, and there wasn’t anything going on that I had to worry about.  I had all day to just be slow and hang out in the nicely air-conditioned armory and nap.

 I did manage to let curiosity get the best of me, as I took my new stereo out of the box and set it up in the armory.  We probably had the only armory in the Navy that came with a Kenwood stereo system and Bose speakers.  It rocked!!  I was careful not to turn it up too loudly, however – as my skull was still teetering on the edge of exploding.    I enjoyed the slow day, as my body took full advantage of the time to attempt to recover from the pounding I had given it over the past couple of days.  I did end up with the Mid watch on the quarterdeck, but I got enough sleep during the day that my 12-4am watch didn’t seem all that bad.  It was kind of funny to watch all of the drunks stumble back on board.  It was always fun to mess with them too – things like sending them down to the wrong berthing area and things like that.  Drunks can be fun!

 **(Author's Note)**  As I re-read and edit this story some 25+ years later, I realize that Sunday, April 15^th, 1990 was actually Easter Sunday.  I find it telling that not a single mention was made in my journal of it being Easter – no special meal on the mess decks, no church service, nothing.  Just business as usual, with guys going out on liberty and drinking themselves into oblivion.  Another thing that strikes me is the fact that the Philippines are one of the highest percentage Catholic populations in the world, per capita.  On this, the holiest of Holy days – thousands of devout Catholics gave up their Easter worship to serve booze and sex to overeager American sailors.  The power and lure of money wins out every time...

 

GMG3 hoisting a Carlsberg at The Body Shop in Olongapo - 1990

Monday, 16APR90 – P.I.

ñ  Grace's B-day

ñ  Mail Call – letter from Janet, 1 from Dad, 1 from AT&T

ñ  ½ Day

ñ  Got slides back

ñ  Anna – T's Tavern

ñ  Paid Jon back his B.F.

Not a bad Monday at all – we only had to work a half day because it was Jon Grace’s birthday.  I guess he wasn’t all bad – he did get me an extra four hours of drinking time!  I had agreed to go out with Jon on his birthday, but he had agreed to pay for the booze, so what the Hell.  Before we left the ship, we stuck around long enough for mail call.  I got a letter from my folks and a letter from Janet.  It was good to hear from them all, as the excitement of realizing I was almost out of the Navy made me more homesick than I had been in a long time.  Letters from home were always a welcome sight.  Dad told me that he and my brother, Matt were really thinking about signing up for the Tiger Cruise.  I thought it would be a kick to have Dad and Matt come onboard with us – and they were giving it some serious thought!  I read the letters, put them away, grabbed what was left of my payday cash, and headed out to Olongapo to get Jon good and drunk for his birthday.

 Once we were out of the Main Gate, Jon and I hit a couple of bars for their happy hour, then headed over to the bar that GMG1 Williansen hung out in.  It was a little run-down hole in the wall on a back street, but GMG1 had promised us a free beer if we found him.  We were men on a mission – a mission for free beer.  By the time we finally found his bar, happy hour was almost over.  At this particular bar, “happy hour” meant free beer for one full hour – from 3:00 to 4:00, and we didn’t show up until 3:55.  GMG1 was worried that he may actually have to pay for our beers, so he had horded a couple of his free beers to give to us when we finally got there.  From the looks of it, he had horded them at around 3:15, so by the time we got there, they were flat and warm.  Gee – thanks for the beer, boss.  We sucked them down anyway, then headed out the door, and down towards Gordon Avenue to find more booze and more trouble.

HT1 Redman lets his hat do the talking in Olongapo - 1990

 We ended up at T’s Tavern for the majority of the evening and began truly drinking in earnest.  Jon was sure he could drink more than me because he was a S.E.A.L., and I was sure that I could drink more than him because I wasn’t.  At around midnight, we called a truce when we realized that neither of us could hit our ass with both hands.  Somewhere during our drinking binge, I had managed to acquire the company of a very large-breasted bar girl from T’s.  Her name was Anna, and she sure acted like she liked me.  Jon had found a girl that he liked as well, and he decided to cheat on his honeyco. We figured we'd go get a couple of hotel rooms and take the girls there. 

 Jon then reminded me that I still owed him for paying for Mercy’s barfine at D’Office the other night, so I begrudgingly forked over the cash for his barfine that night at T’s.  After settling our financial dealings with the bar, the four of us left T’s and headed for one of the local hourly hotels.  The two of us parted ways as we took our girls into our respective rooms.  The business at hand was conducted in a thoroughly professional manner, and Jon and I completed our transactions at roughly the same time.  We both left our rooms at the same time, said goodbye to our dates, then headed back to the base.  I hope Jon enjoyed his birthday that year – I sure know that I did!

 

San Magoo - the P.I. beer of choice

Tuesday, 17APR90 – P.I.

ñ  Mail Call – Letter from Janet

ñ  Did Stargauge on mounts

ñ  Went to Subic with Cravens

ñ  Helen – Bosun's Locker

ñ  Marines left

Work on the 17^th went slowly.  Partly because it was hotter than Hell, and partly because we were on the tail end of a two-week Filipino drunk.  We were scheduled to get underway the next day, so this was supposed to be our last blast in the PI for another couple of months.  Unbeknownst to us at the time, the Frez would make a couple more one or two-day stops in Subic later in April.  Since we didn’t know that, we decided to make it a wild, crazy night on the town.  I still had some money left and decided to go out with a bang – I talked Darryl Cravens into taking me out to Subic City.  Cravens, or “Captain Caveman” as he was called, spent a LOT of his liberty in Subic City.  He was the hardest of the hardcore, and Subic City fit his style.  I knew that if I wanted to find the real action, all I had to do was follow Captain Caveman.  I did, and I found it.

 After we knocked off ship’s work, I got showered and changed, and Cravens and I lit out for the Main Gate.  We stopped for a quick beer at one of the bars on Magsaysay, then caught ourselves a jeepney out to Barrio.  We stopped there for another beer, then caught another jeepney and drove on out to Subic City.  By the time we got to Subic, it was only 17:00.  I had never really seen it in the daylight before, and I was more than surprised at how run-down the bars were!  I guess at night, when all you can see are the bright lights and neon signs, everything looks fairly clean.  In the light of day, you could see why Subic City was the way it was.  Only a REAL party animal would hang out there by choice!  The bars were all run-down and looked to be in imminent danger of collapse.  The streets (aside from the main two-lane highway that was the main drag) were all dirt, and full of chuckholes and mudpuddles.  The cool thing about Subic City, though, was that it sat on a hillside, and overlooked the ocean.  During the day, it was kind of neat to see – at night you couldn’t see it, so it didn’t really matter.  But now, with the afternoon sun pouring through the jungle canopy – the view was breathtaking.

 Cravens took me to a bar called, fittingly enough, “The Bosun’s Locker”.  The Bosun’s Locker was Cravens’ bar – the second we walked in, there were girls all over him.  They treated him like a king!  And then I found out why.  Cravens’ favorite was one of the younger bar girls.  He swore she was 18, and Mama-San swore she was 18, so that was good enough.  The other girls were very protective of her, and they all loved Caveman.  He had bought the girl things like an electric fan and some clothes, so all of the girls looked at him like a protector of their little friend.  Consequently, anything Darryl wanted, Darryl got.  Since I was with him, by default, I too, got whatever I wanted.  We went in and ordered a couple of drinks.  I mentioned to Cravens that I was hungry, and he no more than snapped his fingers, and three girls ran over to see what we needed.  He handed them an American five-dollar bill and told them to go get us some lumpia and fried rice and they could keep the change.  The girls looked like they’d just won the lottery!  They literally ran out the door and were back in less than ten minutes with a heaping plate of hot fried rice and about two dozen lumpia!  It tasted incredible!  Caveman and I ate until we couldn’t eat anymore, then let the bar girls finish off what was left.  The entire time we sat there, there was a steady supply of alcohol at our table – beer, mojo, bullfrog, rum and coke, you name it – it was ours.  And free!  By the time 10:00 rolled around, we were both feeling NO pain.

 Then Cravens decided that it was time for him to retire for the evening.  He told me to come get him at 05:00 so we could catch the jeepney back to the base in time for work, and then he left.  I was suddenly sitting all by myself in a barroom, surrounded by twenty eager Filipina bar girls, just hoping that I’d pick them for the night.  Before they could really start competing for the money, I decided that I liked the girl who was the manager of the bar.  I don’t know why, but she just tripped my trigger that night.  When she came over to ask me which girl I wanted, I told her that I wanted HER.  She just laughed and said

 “No, really.  Which one?” 

 “I want YOU” I insisted. 

 The other girls were laughing, because NO ONE ever tried to hit on the Mama-San.  The girl's name was Helen, and the other girls all called her “Auntie”.  She was evidently the oldest of them, although she couldn’t have been much over 30, IF she was that old.  I finally talked her into going with me, and the two of us left the bar and headed out back to her little shack out back.

 Evidently, one of the perks of being Mama-San was that you didn’t have to live in one of the small rooms in the back of the bar.  Instead, Helen had her own little house out back behind the bar.  It was basically just a two-room cabin on the beach with a bathroom off the side.  It was, however, very opulent by bar girl standards.  As we got into the cabin, I polished off what was left of the beer I’d carried with me, and then decided that I wanted to go swimming – which was bizarre, because I couldn’t swim, and I hated the water!  The booze was definitely doing the speaking for me at this point!  The ocean was only about 100 yards from her house, so I told her I wanted to go play in the water for a while.  She had a fit! 

 “NO!!” she yelled

 Evidently, there was something wrong with the water.  The Red Tide had come in, and the water was toxic.  She then told me that she knew somewhere else we could go, so she led me up the path and back to the highway, where we flagged down a jeepney.  By this point, I had no idea where we were, I was just letting her take the lead.  She said something in Tagalog to the jeepney driver, and he sped off down the highway.  I availed myself to the jeepney’s beer cooler, then sat back and enjoyed the ride.

 Much to my surprise, we ended up in Barrio Baretto about ten minutes later!  We got off at the far end of the town, and Helen took my hand and led me out of the jeepney.  She then took me down a steep slope, and out onto a beautiful white sand beach.  She told me that the water in Barrio was fine, and that we could swim here.  BUT, before we could swim, we had to take off all our clothes by a boat that sat at the bottom of the hill we’d just come down.  The boat was fifty yards from the water, but I didn’t mind the walk.  The moon was full, and the scene was absolutely beautiful – white sand beach, palm trees, moon reflecting in the calm ocean, gentle breeze and a naked island girl standing with me.  It’s a scene that Jimmy Buffet would have written a hit song about! 

 Helen and I ran down to the water and played and splashed around for a while.  The water was warm, and we were having a blast.  I tried to fool around a little in the surf, but Helen wouldn’t have it.  She then said that it was time to go back to her house, because she “wanted me”.  I couldn’t argue with that, but I didn’t really want to get out of the water yet.  I stayed in the water while she walked up the beach toward our clothes.  When I realized what was happening, it was too late – she had put her clothes on, grabbed mine, and started up the hill toward the highway!  I was stranded in the water with no clothes!

 Well, I was just drunk enough not to care that I was completely naked, and I ran off after her.  I thought for sure that I could catch her before she got a jeepney flagged down.  I was wrong. I had no more than made it to the top of the slope, and spotted Helen and my clothes, when I saw her climb on board a jeepney to Subic!  I ran across the highway and managed to get into the back of the same jeepney before he tore off again.  The jeepney was completely full of guys, and Helen was sitting up in the front of the crowd holding my clothes!  I was sitting in the back of the jeepney, completely naked and she wouldn’t give them to me!  She thought it was really funny – an idea that the other ten men on the jeepney held as well.  I finally gave up trying to get my clothes, and just sat back and enjoyed the ride.  Ten miles through the jungle, completely naked – what a rush.  It was that old childhood nightmare of coming to school with no clothes on lived out!  By the time we made it to Subic, the novelty of a naked drunk guy in the back of the jeepney had worn off, and everyone piled off at the first stop on the end of the street.  I was basically pushed off the jeepney with the crowd, and I turned around just in time to see the jeepney take off with Helen and my clothes still in it!  I stood and watched in amazement, as the jeepney stopped in front of The Bosun’s Locker, which was 100 yards away, at the OPPOSITE end of the Subic City strip.  Helen jumped out, waved to me and walked inside the bar. 

 So there I was – standing in the middle of the highway in Subic City, as naked as the day I was born.  My clothes had been stolen by a bar girl and were being held captive a football field away, inside a bar.  The only problem was that hundred yards back to where my clothes were was lined – on BOTH sides – by bars full of drunken Sailors and Marines.  I would have to make the Walk of Shame before I could regain any stitch of my dignity (or clothes, for that matter).  I thought of running, but then thought “What the Hell...”, and I slowly ambled down the middle of the highway toward The Bosun’s Locker. 

 Right down the yellow line I walked, with guys (and bar girls) hooting and hollering as I went – flashbulbs going off and illuminating the night.  All taking pictures of the guy who let a bar girl steal his clothes!  I made it through the gauntlet and walked up the stairs to the main barroom of The Bosun’s Locker. 

 “Alright – VERY funny.  Now give me my clothes!” 

 My t-shirt and shorts were laying, folded neatly, in a pile on the bar.  All of the girls stood and laughed as I got dressed.  Helen then handed me a cold beer and asked if I was mad at her. 

 “Hell yes – now take me to your room and I’ll SHOW you how mad I am.” 

 She did, and I did.  It was a wild, crazy night – one not to be forgotten!  I ended up not getting any sleep (for some odd reason), and all of a sudden it was 05:00!  I jumped out of bed and asked Helen where I could find Cravens.  She took me to the room he was sleeping in, and I tried frantically to wake him up.

 Cravens was damn hard to wake up!  I ended up almost slapping him to get him to acknowledge me!  When he finally got up and was ready to go – it was almost 06:00!  We only had an hour to make it from Subic City to the base and be on board the ship for quarters.  The first jeepney we flagged down wanted 500 pesos for the trip (as opposed to the 2 pesos we’d paid for the ride OUT the night before).  Cravens started raising hell with him, and the driver was about to leave when I reminded Darryl that we had less than an hour left.  He got in, and we told the driver that there was an extra 100 pesos in it for him if he got us there in less than a half hour.  What a mistake!  That guy hauled some serious balls to get us back to Olongapo.  It was the scariest ride of my life!  By the time we screeched to a halt in front of the main gate, it was 06:30 – plenty of time to get back to the Frez, get dressed, and make it up for quarters.  We handed the driver a US $10 bill (we supposedly owed him about $25, but they could get a better exchange rate than we could anyway!)  He started to say something to us, but by the time he could get it out, we were across the bridge and on base – safe!

 Darryl and I ran back to the ship, got dressed and made it to quarters on time.  What an incredible night – what an incredible story – and what an incredible hangover!

 

Wednesday, 18APR90 – P.I. (Duty)

ñ  Didn't get underway

ñ  Mail call – 1 from Dad

ñ  Grace went diving to fix stern gate wire

ñ  Offloaded Marine's stuff

ñ  0400-0800 watch

 It was our last day in the Philippines before we pulled out for Okinawa, and I had duty. That was a good thing, though, because I was suffering through yet another horrible hangover!  Unfortunately for me, it was a very busy day onboard the Frez. We had to make preparations for an entirely different company of Marines, because our usual company was going to disembark, and we were to go to Okinawa to get a new company. 

 The first task at hand was to unload the company that was currently onboard.  We lowered our bow ramp onto the pier, and the Marines drove their AAV’s from the tank deck, up and out to the pier.  They gathered all of their gear and cleared out so that we would have room to bring back the base’s security reinforcements.  When we tried to lower our stern gate to take some more AAV’s off the ship, the cable attaching the door to the stern of the ship broke!  It came detached from it’s anchor point below the waterline, and made it so we couldn’t hoist the door back up.  We were all standing there, looking at it and wondering what to do, when Jon Grace came up with a solution –

 “What if I just dove down there and put the cable back in place?” 

 No one thought he could do it, but we didn’t have any better ideas, so they gave him the go-ahead to try.

 John put on his swim fins and his mask, grabbed a wrench, and dove into Subic Bay.  He quickly found the broken fixture, re-attached the cable, and tightened up the nut.  It was pretty amazing, actually – and Jon was sure to let us know exactly HOW amazing it had been.  The bottom line was, the stern gate was fixed, but the price we all paid (listening to Jon brag about it) was steep.  

 I stood the 04:00-08:00 quarterdeck watch the next morning, and then we were ready to go.  It was time to head to Okinawa to do our part.  Besides, we knew we’d be back in a week or so – and Hell, we might even get a night’s liberty in Okinawa!

 

CHAPTER FORTY:  P.I. TO OKINAWA, THEN BACK TO THE P.I.

The trip from Subic Bay in the Philippines to Buckner Bay in Okinawa was only about three or four days.  We were under full steam the whole trip, so we made it in three.  By this point in time, the Captain had lost all patience with Third Division, and he put his foot down.  If the gun mounts weren’t fixed, he said, then he would personally take our I.D. cards, and our liberty would be revoked until they were up and running again!  NOW he had our attention!  We spent the next three days working like mad on the gun mounts and checking them out.  The first day, mount 32 worked fine, but mount 31 went haywire.  The next day we got mount 31 fixed, but they canceled our live fire exercise for some reason.  Finally, on our last day at sea, we had a live fire exercise.  Mount 32 worked like a champ, but mount 31 broke down…again.  The C.O. had had enough – he came up to us and asked for our I.D.’s 

 “You can have these back when Mount 31 works again” 

 He then took our ID cards and walked away!  That was it – we were secured to the ship…on restriction until we could get both gun mounts working at the same time!  I couldn’t believe it!  We were supposed to pull into Okinawa tomorrow night, and we couldn’t go anywhere!  Damn!

Thursday, 19APR90

ñ  Left PI – headed to Okinawa

ñ  Mail call – nothing

ñ  Saw 3 whales

ñ  Heard sonic booms

ñ  Did pre-fire checks, 32 - okay, 31 – D.U. Again

ñ  Took temps

Yet another highlight of our deployment happened during this short three-day steam.  The first day out of port, just off of our port side, we saw three whales surfacing to breathe!  It was the first time I had ever seen a whale – I couldn’t believe how big they were!  It was absolutely beautiful.  Right after we saw the whales, a plane flew over at supersonic speed, and I also heard my first sonic boom.  It was a very memorable day, to say the least.

 

Friday, 20APR90

ñ  Fixed Mt. 31

ñ  PACFIRE canceled

ñ  GQ canceled

ñ  Swept out troop mags – found loads of Q-tips

ñ  Wrote letters to Jon & Grandma Pete

Saturday, 21APR90

ñ  PACFIRE – 32 worked, 31 broke

ñ  Had our ID's taken – to be returned when Mt. 31 works

ñ  Hairy Buffalo – Holiday Routine

ñ  Think we fixed Mt. 31

ñ  Wrote to Paul, Dad and Janet

They threw another cookout on the flight deck that Saturday.  These “Hairy Buffalos” or “Steel Beach Picnics” were always fun – there was nothing like breaking out the big barbecue grills on the flight deck and grilling up burgers and hot dogs for the crew.  We spent the day just relaxing, eating, catching some rays and enjoying some much-deserved down time.  Hairy Buffaloes were always a nice change of pace in the day-to-day grind of being out to sea.  It’s probably a good thing that they didn’t allow beer on the ship, because these Steel Beach Picnics would have been a perfect excuse to get drunk as skunks!

Days at sea can be slow, and they don't let the Engineers topside very often - 1990

Sunday, 22APR90 – Okinawa

ñ  Onloaded Marines & their vehicles

ñ  Had liberty call, but we are restricted

ñ  Listened to Powell's CD's

ñ  Drew up my Pistol Pete tattoo

We pulled into Buckner Bay in Okinawa early that morning.  Unlike every other day we’d been in Okinawa, it wasn’t raining or overcast.  It was actually a bright, sunshiny day!  Not that it mattered anyway, because Third Division wasn’t going anywhere until we got that damn gun mount fixed!

We spent the day onloading the new complement of Marines, and making preparations to get back to sea the next morning to go back to the P.I.  We were getting pretty good at the making preparations thing, so it didn’t take long to get the Marines all secured. and get the Frez ready for sea.  Liberty call went down right on time, and the Gunner’s Mates sat and watched the rest of the ship’s crew head off into the Okinawan night.  I was kind of pissed, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I went down to the armory to listen to my new stereo and be alone.  I wasn’t alone for long, however as Bob Powell and Jerry Ford soon found me, and we sat and listened to Powell’s new CD’s, and shot the shit into the night.  They both had duty, so neither of them could leave the ship either.

Sometime around midnight, we got to talking about tattoos.  All three of us had one (or more), and we were talking about getting another one when we went back to Olongapo.  I said I wasn’t getting any more, and they told me I was a wimp!  Unwilling to accept that, I told them that I was going to get a Pistol Pete tattoo.  Pistol Pete was the University of Wyoming mascot, and I had a picture of him on a UW bumper sticker on my locker in the armory.  To make a point, I grabbed the sticker and a piece of tracing paper and traced out the picture of Pistol Pete.  Once finished with the drawing, I showed it to them and said,

“Here – here is the tattoo I’m going to get!”. 

I folded it up, put it in my wallet and promptly forgot about it.  I was sure that they’d forget about it, too – but leave it to Jerry to remember one night as were drinking in D’Office.  As a result, I now carry a tattoo of the cartoon cowboy mascot that the University Of Wyoming shares with Oklahoma State on my left calf.  Forever.

Monday, 23APR90

ñ  Left Okinawa

ñ  Train & Elevation on mounts broke.  Got it fixed

ñ  This ship is packed with vehicles

ñ  Still restricted

The next morning, we got underway early.  Reveille was an hour earlier than usual, and we were out to sea before breakfast was ready.  The ship was absolutely packed with Marines and their vehicles, and it was tough to get from one end to the other without tripping over a greasy gripe or a sleeping Marine.  After securing from our Sea and Anchor details, we went up to eat breakfast, then it was right to work on the gun mounts – we HAD to get them fixed before we made it back to Subic, because I couldn’t handle having my liberty secured there!

The first day out, both the train and elevation servos on one of the mounts broke.  It took us the majority of the day, but we got it fixed. The next day, we were scheduled to have a gun shoot to test the operation of our newly-repaired gun mounts.  The first round through each gun went smooth, but then mount 31’s shell extractors broke.  We got them fixed, but not in time to fire the mount again to prove that it worked.  We secured from the day’s work, not knowing if the mounts worked, or if we’d ever get our ID cards back!

Tuesday, 24APR90

ñ  Gun Shoot – 31 & 32 worked!

ñ  31 – extractors broke.  Fixed them – try again tomorrow

ñ  Took temps

ñ  Hick taped Hank CD

ñ  Jammed in armory

 

Judson and Pete in the armory - 1990

Wednesday, 25APR90

ñ  Gun Shoot – Mt. 31 short circuit – fried right gun firing circuit

ñ  Fixed it later – extractors still down

ñ  Got ID card back

ñ  Finished 1302 Final

April 25^th was our last day to prove that the gun mounts were fixed before we pulled into Subic.  We found out that we would only be in port in P.I. for one day (and night) – just long enough to unload the Marines, get drunk, and then get back out to sea.  We figured that if we had to lose our ID cards for one P.I. port visit, this was probably the one to lose it for.  Regardless, none of us wanted to miss a second of P.I. liberty, so we worked like men possessed to get the gun mounts up and running. 

We were almost positive that we had them fixed correctly, and we readied for our live ammo test.  Again, the two mounts worked perfectly for the first shot, and then the firing circuit on mount 31 shorted out and fried itself.  Then the extractors broke – again.  We hurriedly made repairs and got off another round before we missed the gun exercise time window.  The mounts both went off, and we claimed a victory!  The CO was happy – he gave us our ID cards back, and all was seemingly well in Third Division. 

What the Captain didn’t know is that we had manually tripped the firing pins to make the rounds go off – the firing circuit was still fried!  AND we had manually pulled the spent shell from the breech and thrown it out the ejection chute – the extractors were still broken!  We had lied and cheated to get our ID cards back…but hey – this was P.I. liberty we were talking about!  We just figured we’d get everything fixed before we had another gun exercise, and no one would be the wiser!  Ha!

 

Thursday, 26APR90 – P.I.

ñ  Did S-1 (dropped breech blocks)

ñ  Offloaded Okinawa Marines, Onloaded our Marines

ñ  Mail call – letter from UW, box & envelope from Janet

ñ  Got chewed

ñ  Unknown – Subic City

We hit the P.I. with a passion that morning – ready to get on with getting on with it!  We pulled into port, and immediately offloaded all of our new Marines.  Once they, and all of their vehicles were gone, our old Marines came back onboard.  We brought them on, got their vehicles secured, and made ready for sea again the next day.  It was one of the busiest mornings I can remember on the Fresno, but everyone did their job, and it went like clockwork!  Amazing to see the training pay off like that.  By lunchtime, we had completely switched out Marine Companies and their vehicles – a very impressive feat.

Mail call that day was one of the best.  I got a letter and a care package from Janet, which was always nice, but the most important letter of my young life was waiting for me as well.  It was a letter from the University of Wyoming – I had completely forgotten that I should be getting my notice of acceptance for enrollment until I saw that envelope in my hand.  I took the letter down to the armory, and locked myself in, alone.  I wanted to find out by myself if I’d made it or not.  I slowly opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside, and read:

            “Dear Mr. Peterson,

                   Congratulations, and welcome to the University of Wyoming…”

I didn’t need to read any more – I had made it!  I had been accepted into college!  My life after the Navy was actually going to happen!  I don’t know when I’d ever been happier.  I shouted for joy, then ran out of the armory and went to find the other Sea College guys to share the news.  We had now all been accepted to a school – Derkins to Central Michigan, Barris to Georgia Southern, Munderson to Montana and me to Wyoming!  We were all happy, and shared congratulations all around.  We made promises to go have a drink – or twelve - one of these first liberty nights, and we parted ways to get ready for the night’s liberty that lay ahead of us.  We only had one night on the town, and I planned to make the most of it!

GMG3 Peterson after a day's work - 1990

I was in a very celebratory mood, but was having a hard time finding someone to celebrate with.  None of my regular gang seemed to share my enthusiasm about going to college, so it looked like I was destined to go it alone that night.  Since it was such a big event, I decided to go whole hog, and go all the way out to Subic City to do some serious partying!  When liberty call went down, I ran for the showers and the berthing area to get ready to celebrate! 

 I was one of the first off the ship, and made a beeline for the base club, where I started off with a Jim Beam and Coke.  I only drank call liquor when I was feeling rich, but this was a night to remember, so I decided to drink with class (until I was too drunk to tell the difference, anyway!).  A couple of Beam and Cokes, and Budweisers later, I was ready to hit the town.  I walked out to the Gate, and onto Magsaysay, where I hit a couple of the usual bars, just working up the buzz that would get me onto a jeepney and out into the jungle.  It took a while, but as the sun went down, I found myself in a jeepney headed towards Barrio Baretto.  Subic City would have to wait for a while.

As we sped through the jungle at breakneck speeds in a dilapidated jeepney, I spent some time thinking about life.  I thought about what the Navy had meant to me, and what college was going to be like.  I thought about the changes I’d been through, and all the changes yet to come.  I knew that I was having fun, but I also knew that there would be a price to pay for it someday.  I had almost convinced myself to tell the jeepney driver to turn around when he screeched to a halt in front a bar on the south end of Barrio Baretto.  The sudden stop jolted me out of my reflective mood, and made me realize where I was and what was at hand….drinking, and lots of it!  I jumped out of the jeepney, and headed into the bar, where I knew there was a cold San Miguel waiting for me.

Once inside, I found out the one San Miguel that was waiting for me had friends.  He had lots and LOTS of friends – and I was determined to meet them all!  I began to drink with a fury – in celebration of everything I could think of, my college acceptance, my being in the Philippines, my having a pocket full of cash, and most of all, my ability to still stand upright at the bar and order another drink!  I was well on my way to rendering the last of those celebratory points completely moot, when one of the guys at the bar yelled – “Bar Switch!!”.  Suddenly, everyone in the bar grabbed their drinks and headed for the door.  I was confused as Hell, but I played along.  I grabbed my drink and followed the crowd out the door, and onto the road outside.  From there, we ran across the highway, and into another bar.  It was there that one of the other guys explained to me that a “Bar Switch” just meant that everyone in the bar had to leave and go to another bar.  The group I’d wound up drinking with were a bunch of guys who were stationed at the Marine air base at Cebu Point.  They were out having a farewell party for one of their guys, and I happened to fit right in with them. 

 We drank through four or five “Bar Switches”, until there were only two or three of us left.  Everyone else had either passed out, gone back to their hotel rooms, or found a girl to shack up with.  The small group of us were the hardcore drinkers, evidently, and I felt it was up to me to defend the reputation of the Fresno and her crew – I couldn’t let a bunch of shore duty pukes out-drink the hardest partyin’ ship in the fleet!  I looked around, then yelled out, “Bar Switch – to SUBIC CITY!!”  The other guys looked at me like I was crazy, and when I flagged down a jeepney, they refused to get on.  I told them they were a bunch of pussies, and I sped off into the jungle, on the way to Subic City, and all the trouble I could find.

 As the jeepney pulled into Subic, I found out why I was alone.  Subic was dead – there wasn’t much going on at all, and on the side of one of the bars, in big, red letters, was spray-painted “Yankees Go Home!”.  Evidently, the rebel faction was big in Subic City, and more and more sailors were avoiding it like the plague!  I wasn’t one to scare off so easily (and I was drunk as all get out as well), so I headed for the Sea Lord.  I hadn’t been in the Sea Lord since ’88 and the infamous “First Time” episode, so I figured I was about due for a return.  I headed up the stairs, and into an empty bar.  There was just the bartender and one or two disinterested bar girls.  I took a quick glance around, then headed to the bar downstairs.  Different bar, same story – no one there except the staff.  I was beginning to wonder if I’d walked into an episode of “The Twilight Zone”.  It was really weird. 

 Finally, I found a bar with a few guys in it, so I headed in and proceeded to finish the job I’d begun at the base club some eight hours before.  I completed the job with a flourish.  By the time I stumbled out of the bar at around 02:00, I was barely able to stand or walk.  When I got to the road to flag down a jeepney, it was the same old story.  No jeepneys back to the base after midnight.  I sat and waited for a long time, and nothing.  I finally decided to walk the ten miles or so back to the base, but when I got up to go, I began walking the wrong way.  I was headed into the jungle rather than towards the base!  Some bar girl getting off work happened to see me, and she ran over to catch me. 

“Sailor – you go wrong way!  You no go there!  You come with me.” 

I was in no shape to argue.

“Sure – whatever”. 

And I let her lead me down a back street to her little run-down room in the back of a house. 

 She was a bar girl, and her room showed it.  Nothing but a mattress on the floor, and one bare light bulb hanging from a single wire in the middle of the room.  There was a box of condoms on the wooden crate she was using for a nightstand, and a washtub and water pitcher sat in the corner.  The washtub and pitcher were for washing off her clients both before and after the act.  Hygiene was important, after all.  She asked if I wanted to be with her, and I just nodded.  She then told me that she cost 100 pesos.  I told her she was crazy and flopped down on her bed to pass out.  Well, she wasn’t giving up that easy.  She just looked at me and told me that she would give me a “free sample”, then pulled down my shorts and proceeded to give me just that!  Five minutes later, I willingly fished 100 pesos out of my pocket, and paid her to finish the free sample she had started.  Once finished, I rolled over and promptly fell asleep.  It was a good thing that my overriding need to pee woke me up about an hour later, and I realized that I had to find a jeepney…and quick! 

 It was now 05:00 in the morning, and I had to be back on the ship in two hours!  I was ten miles away, in the middle of the jungle, in somebody’s house with no money and no jeepneys for miles!  I actually didn’t realize that I had no money until I reached into my pocket and found nothing but a piece of lint.  That 100-peso “free sample” had taken up the last of my cash!  Now I was really screwed – I couldn’t afford a ride back to the base even IF I could have found a jeepney!  I solved this little dilemma by making sure that the bar girl I’d come home with was asleep, then I went through her pockets and purse to find my 100 pesos.  I found them – along with about 500 more.  I checked once again to make sure she was asleep, then I pocketed the cash and made my way quietly out of her house.

 Once out onto the street, I ran towards the edge of town, and lo and behold – there was a jeepney!  He told me that a ride back to the base would cost me 500 pesos!  This ride that you could usually get for 2 pesos was now going to cost me nearly 20 dollars!  Oh well, it wasn’t my money anyway – I tossed him the money and told him to haul ass!  The driver was shocked that I didn’t argue about the price, so he invited me to sit up front with him, and he told me to hold on!  That was the fastest ride to the base I ever had!  We blew through Barrio at about 80mph – past about a dozen guys trying frantically to flag us down for a ride back to the base.  The driver flew through the back streets of Olongapo, and finally screeched to a stop just outside the main gate of the base!  I thanked him, shook his hand and ran across the bridge to the relative safety of the base! 

 Once I was on American-controlled soil, I finally felt like I had gotten away with something – I mean, sure, I had stolen 500 pesos from a bar girl but I had given it right back to someone who was probably her brother or something!  I convinced myself that the two of them, the bar girl and the jeepney driver, were in cahoots, so I was actually just getting something for free from both of them!  I laughed at my self-perceived cleverness, patted the last 100 peso bill in my pocket, and chuckled all the way back to the ship.  I walked back on board about twenty minutes before liberty expired, found my way down to the berthing area, got changed and wandered up for quarters.  It was yet another, crazy, drunken evening in the P.I., and I loved every single minute of it…or at least the minutes I could remember!  The conscience wouldn't kick in until years later.  I still ask for forgiveness for that particular evening.

 

Friday, 27APR90 (Duty)

ñ  Left P.I.

ñ  Mail Call – pkg from Dad

ñ  Gun Shoot – 31 & 32 worked – almost sank trimaran

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  English Class

 The morning of April 27^th was pretty much a fog.  Not a fog in terms of the weather, but a fog in terms of my brain.  I hadn’t slept much at all the night before, and there was a bit too much blood in my alcohol stream – just enough to make me feel like death warmed over.  It was an amazing hangover – I’d rarely felt it’s equal.   To make matters worse, the day started off with another Sea and Anchor detail – I had to spend two hours at my starboard aftersteering station.  Two hours of 100-degree temperatures, diesel fumes and incredibly loud noises – it was pure joy.  I tried my damndest to stay awake during our watch, but I just couldn’t fight it.  In a stroke of luck, CHENG didn’t decide to come visit us during Sea and Anchor, so I got away with it, but as bad as I was feeling that morning, I’d have probably taken the write-up in exchange for some sleep anyway!

 We were headed out to sea for three days to do some kind of training exercise.  The word on the ship was that it was actually a punishment cruise – the C.O. was mad about something, and in order to get his point across, he arranged for us to do some kind of B.S. exercise over one of our few in-port weekends, thereby denying us weekend liberty.  I don’t know how true that was, but the timing of our sudden “emergency exercise” sure did seem suspect. 

 Once we were out of the harbor, and into the open sea, we made ready the gun mounts for yet another gunnery exercise.  We had fixed all of the discrepancies that we had lied about last time, and we actually thought we might have a handle on the problems.  The mounts had been checked and re-checked, and we were sure they were going to work.  And work they did – almost.

 The day before, we had worked madly on the mounts to get them ready.  We did all sorts of checks and P.M.S. on them – every one of the checks that we could, whether they were scheduled due or not.  Hell, we even dropped the breech blocks (which were 100-pound blocks of solid steel) and cleaned and checked them!  All of us did our part, and evidently, everyone’s favorite Gunner’s Mate – GMG3 Willis - helped out a little too much!  Will wasn’t exactly known for his innate intelligence, and he was frequently screwing things up during P.M.S. checks.  He was the one responsible for things like nearly dumping the pyro locker overboard in port in Long Beach and using steel rollers to slide cases of hand grenades down the ladderbacks onto the steel tank deck.  Will was our “danger child”, and this day he proved it once again.

 The check that Will had been in charge of was on a piece of the gunsight called the offset.  The offset was a small piece of metal that was inserted into the sight, making it look ten degrees ahead where the gun barrels were actually aimed.  The point of the offset was to prevent any accidental friendly fire shellings from over-eager Gunners.  Most times we would do gunnery exercises, we would be in the open ocean, and there weren’t a whole lot of targets around.  To solve that, one of the ships in the group would release a target trimaran.  The trimaran was a small, three-hulled float with a large flag stuck in the middle of it.  It was painted international orange and attached to a ship by the means of a long cable.  The towing ship would set it out, and when the target was at the end of the cable, then we’d be given the “open fire” command, and we would try to sink the trimaran.  Since there was only one of the targets, and there were usually three or four ships doing exercises, they didn’t actually want us to sink the thing – thus the offsets.  If our shell landed at the proper distance, exactly ten degrees behind the trimaran, it was considered a direct hit – anything else was a miss.  When it finally came time for the Fresno to fire, you can believe we missed…in spectacular fashion.

 As we took our positions in the firing line, we assumed our regular positions in the mount – Grace was the Gun Captain, Will was the back up LSO, and I was the trigger-man – responsible for the aiming and actual firing of the gun.  The ships ahead of us in the firing line had all missed their marks.  If the rest of the crew did their jobs, and my aim was true, we could be the only ship in the exercise to “sink” the trimaran. 

 I was ready.  Grace was ready.  Will was ready.  The rest of the crew was ready.  The trimaran came into sight on the horizon.  I turned the gun mount to face it and found the float in my sights.  I adjusted my elevation according to the range I was being given by C.I.C..  I called for shells, and Grace cycled one round into each barrel.  I let the trimaran get directly into my crosshairs, and I squeezed off one round – BOOM!  While that shell was still in the air, I found the float again, and let the other round fly – BOOM!  Then I sat and waited for the splashes I knew were coming exactly ten degrees behind the target…they never came.  The next thing I heard was shouting over the sound-powered phones I was wearing, when suddenly, the door of my gun mount was ripped open, and somebody grabbed me by my collar. 

 “What in THE HELL are you doing?!?!” 

 It was the 1^st Lieutenant, and he was none to happy. 

 “What?!?” was all I managed to get out. 

 “You almost sank them!  What in THE HELL are you doing?!” 

 Unbeknownst to me, the two rounds had NOT landed where they were supposed to – ten degrees behind the target.  They had, instead, landed ten degrees ahead of the target, placing them directly between the trimaran and the ship that was towing it!  My aim had been twenty degrees off of where it was supposed to be.  I was absolutely mystified!  I had no idea what had gone wrong – I knew that I had the target in the middle of my sights, and I knew that meant the shells would land ten degrees behind it – I couldn’t figure out why they had landed where they did.  Officers were screaming, I was cringing, and there were no answers to be found…..until Jon Grace did a little detective work.

 What he found was that evidently, when Will had done the P.M.S checks on the offsets, he had re-assembled them backwards.  Instead of putting the offset in to aim the barrels ten degrees aft of the target, he had put it in to aim ten degrees fore of the target!  Absolutely backwards!  He hadn’t realized his mistake, and as a result, I almost sank the ship that had been towing the trimaran.  When this little nugget of information was made public knowledge, my worries were over.  I knew it wasn’t my fault, and this wasn’t my problem anymore.  Will was quickly escorted away with Senior Chief Bulletier, the 1^st Lieutenant, the C.O., and a couple of other guys wearing khaki.  I was sure glad that I wasn’t in his shoes right about then.  We went about the business of cleaning up the guns and securing from the exercises and waited for Will to make it back and tell us what had happened. 

 Twenty minutes later, Will finally made it back.  He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t look any too happy.  He never did say anything about what had happened to him, but we did notice that he wasn’t scheduled for many more P.M.S. checks for the rest of deployment!  It was definitely a scary situation, compounded by Will’s complete ineptitude.  We were all glad that the gun mount had worked, but the results of our work weren’t exactly lauded like we expected.  Third Division just couldn’t buy a break!

 

Saturday, 28APR90

ñ  Did M-3 on sprinkler system

ñ  Cleaned barrels

ñ  English Class – did oral presentation

ñ  Debarked & Embarked AAV's at San Miguel

ñ  Wrote letter to Janet

ñ  Started “O-Zone”

 

Sunday, 29APR90

ñ  0300 Reveille

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Cleaned the mounts

ñ  Debarked & Embarked the AAV's

ñ  Read “Anything For Billy”

ñ  English Class

 The next couple of days went much, much smoother.  We did some amphib exercises, debarking and embarking our Marines a couple of times at a place called San Miguel so they could practice beach assaults.  We spent most of the weekend cleaning our guns and finishing up our P.M.S. checks.  I had finished the first of the two English classes I had enrolled in, and during this short trip, the second began.  It was a pretty easy class, and I had scored among the top two on the first semester.  I finished with an 89%, but our drunk of a teacher didn’t believe in grading on a curve, so I got a B.  Jerk. 

 The last day of our steam, they set reveille for 03:00, so we could practice early morning insertions.  It sucked – it was dark, we were sleepy, and all I had to do was stand by a .50 cal. Machine gun and pretend to protect the Marines and their AAV’s as they went to the beach and came back again.  Fun stuff.  I guess it would have been exciting, had there been any real action happening, but this training thing was boring as Hell!  All we could do was count the hours until we pulled back into Subic Bay, and had our last two days of P.I. liberty for a month and a half.  After our exercises were finished, they called Holiday Routine for the rest of the day, and we did little of nothing – just waiting to pull back into port the next morning.

SN Andrews gives SN Braun a tittie twister in 1st Div. berthing - 1990

Monday, 30APR90 – P.I. (Duty)

ñ  Mail Call – letters from Janet, Paul, Dad & BP

ñ  Wrote letter to Janet

ñ  Watched “Delta Force”

ñ  No Watch

ñ  English Class – Final Grade - 'B'

We pulled back in to the Subic Bay Naval Station around ten o’clock in the morning.  I wasn’t too worried about time – I had duty that day anyway.  I was glad to see that I wasn’t scheduled for a watch, though.  That meant I could just relax and sleep the night away in preparation for what I was sure was going to be a wild time the next night!  Mail call was a good one – I got letters from my buddy Paul, one from my Dad, and a letter from Janet.  Things between Janet and I had really been going well and we had pretty much decided that I would live with her when I got back for college.  Needless to say, I was pretty damn excited about that!  After reading my letters, I retired to the berthing area, wrote a couple letters of my own back home and then watched the cheesy old Chuck Norris flick, “Delta Force”.  I don’t think I even made it to the end before I fell asleep and sawed logs until reveille.

 

APR90:  Deployment day 80-109      Underway – 13 days     In Port – 17 days

 

Tuesday, 1MAY90 – P.I.

ñ  Payday - $152.00

ñ  Mail call – letter from Janet

ñ  Worked until 1630

ñ  Got Pistol Pete tattoo

ñ  Got Chewed

ñ  Liberty Expired at 2400

ñ  Massage - ?

May Day and payday – what a great Tuesday morning!  Unfortunately, we still hadn’t spent enough time out to sea to collect enough helo landings to qualify for our extra money, so I was stuck with the usual $152 payday.  Oh well – it was enough to buy me a few San Miguels!  I had to be careful though, because we were scheduled to be in Hong Kong by week’s end, and everyone said that the shopping there was incredible!  We worked a long, hot day, and didn’t knock off ship’s work until 1630.  Just lots of things to get finished before we left Subic. 

 Subic was the largest Naval Station this side of Pearl Harbor, and we wouldn’t be back for a month and a half, so everyone was busy making sure we were ready for anything that could happen while we were gone.  I did get a nice break at lunchtime, however – I got another letter from Janet.  I was really getting used to hearing from her on a regular basis.  She would tell me about all the things she was doing at school, and about how much she missed me and wished I was there.  The feeling was mutual, and July 12^th was looking farther and farther away!

 That feeling was quickly forgotten as we finally called it a day and got ready for one last P.I. night!  They had secured our liberty at midnight – partly because they wanted us to be in halfway decent shape to get underway the next morning, and partly because the rebels were making some noise about killing Americans they found out in the jungle.  Discretion is the better part of valor, so midnight it was.  That didn’t stop us from finding trouble though – trouble, and one more tattoo, in my case!

 The night started off harmlessly enough, just me and some Deck Department guys drinking a few at D’Office as usual.  We made a couple of runs up the stairs across the street to The Firehouse, and a couple of runs around the block to T’s Tavern and The Body Shop.  Soon, we were feeling no pain.  I ended up sitting at the bar at D’Office with Jerry Ford and having a rum and coke to pass the time.  Jerry and I got to talking, and he asked me about the tattoo I wanted. 

 “C’mon Pete, let’s go get that tattoo!” 

 “What tattoo?” 

 “You know – that one on the picture in your wallet.” 

 “Oh man, I was just kidding, I really don’t want that.” 

 “Oh ,okay…here, have a drink.” 

And with that, a fresh rum and coke came my way.  When that one was empty, Jerry piped up again –

 “C’mon Pete, how ‘bout that tattoo?” 

 “Man, I don’t want no tattoo!” 

 “Oh, okay – here, have a drink”. 

 And another rum and coke made my acquaintance.  I was almost finished with that one when once again he said

 “C’mon Pete – let’s go get a tattoo.”

  “No way man – I don’t want it.” 

 But I was beginning to get a bit intrigued – and did he say LET’S go get tattoos?  Was he going to get one with me?  I reached for the new rum and coke I knew would be there, and wasn’t disappointed – there it was.  As I poured it down, Jerry looked at me with a gleam in his eye and said,

 “C’mon Pete, come watch ME get a tattoo.” 

 “Oh man, I don’t…wait – watch YOU get a tat?  Okay.” 

 And we left.

 We walked to the tattoo parlor a couple of blocks away, and the booze and the tropic night air worked its magic. I was feeling those rum and cokes something fierce.  I was pretty much hammered.  When we walked into the shop, Jerry went up to the guy at the counter and said,

 “Yeah – this guy here wants a tattoo.” 

 “I do?” 

 “Yeah, show him the picture, Pete.” 

 “But I…Here ya go…” 

 I fished the tracing of Pistol Pete out of my wallet and showed it to the guy.  He studied it for a second and said

 “No problem…40 dollars.”

 “Well damn – I’ve only got twenty” 

 It was my last ditch attempt (however feeble) to avoid getting tattooed. 

 “No problem – here’s the other twenty”, said Jerry, as he reached into his pocket and handed the man the rest of the money.  I just shrugged my shoulders and sat down in the chair. 

 The artist was actually pretty amazing – he looked at the picture I’d drawn in his left hand, and with a felt-tip marker in his right hand, he drew a perfect replica of it, completely free-hand, on my left calf.  Once he had completed the drawing, he broke out the tattoo needle, and went to work.  Jerry had been kind enough to find a beer for me somewhere, and I remember drinking it and being amazed at how fast the guy was tattooing me.  The next thing I knew, he was done, there was a dull throbbing ache in my leg, and Jerry Ford and I were back at D’Office with drinks in our hands.  I had been tattooed once again!  Dammit. 

SN Ford, GMG3 Peterson and SN Judson sample the street vendor wares in Olongapo CIty - 1990

Judson, Peterson and Ford enjoying an Olongapo night - 1990

 Soon, it was 2300, and time to get back to base.  It was probably only about a ten-minute walk from D'Office to the Main Gate, but in the shape we were in, it was wise to give ourselves a little cushion.  That turned out to be a great idea, because as we walked down Magsaysay, a Filipino girl standing in the doorway of a hotel said to me,

 “Hey sailor – you want massage?”

 It suddenly sounded like the best idea I had ever heard.

 “Hell yeah – how much?”

 “Massage 50 peso.  Short time 100 peso.”

 “I've got 20 – what can we do for that?”

 Realizing that her customer base was quickly leaving town, her business instincts kicked in, and she said,

 “I give massage for 20 – let's go”

 Following her, I stumbled up the flight of stairs and down the hallway of the second-floor hotel.  She opened the door to her room, that I'm sure had been bought and paid for by one of her earlier clients, and I flopped on the bed.  A quick glance at my watch told me we had about 20 minutes to get this done.

 “Okay – lets' do this” I said and took off my shirt.

 She began giving me a massage, but I had other ideas.  I sat up and grabbed her arms, “No massage – short time”, and I smiled.

 She didn't blink, “Short time 100 pesos.  You only pay 20.  Massage”

 I was beat.  I knew she had me, and I knew I wasn't as irresistible as I hoped I was.

 “Okay” I said, as I fell back and let her finish.

 When she had finished the glorified back rub, I sat up and looked at my watch – 5 minutes to midnight!  I grabbed my shirt and tore out of the hotel and towards the gate in an insanely drunken stagger.  I needn't have worried, though, as I was joined by about 200 of my closest drunk Navy friends, all trying to beat curfew.  MP eyes turned the other way, as we filed through the gate at midnight, and a few minutes after.  I don’t remember the walk back to the Frez and going to bed, I just remember waking up the next morning and thinking,

 “Man, my head hurts.”

 I was used to waking up after a night of liberty with a pounding head, so this was nothing new, but then something else registered,

 “Man, my leg hurts.  Why does my leg hurt?”

 I looked down and saw the bloody bandage on my calf.

 Shit.

 What a glorious way to wake up. 

 I guess it could have been worse – there was a Marine who was part of the company assigned to our ship, who came back from P.I. liberty one night with the words “Hump Dog” tattooed in bright red and green letters on his left arm, from his bicep to his wrist!  Bet his mom was proud!  I knew that my mom was going to be anything BUT proud of me and my “Wyoming leg” when I got home!  I didn’t have too much time to think about the stupidity of my actions, as there was work to be done early that day.  I stumbled out of my rack, got dressed and headed up to quarters.  It was time to get back to sea and do what newly-tattooed sailors do.  Work.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:  HONG KONG - 7-11 CAPITAL OF THE WORLD 

 

Wednesday, 2MAY90

ñ  Got underway from P.I. - headed to H.K.

ñ  Spot Check with 1^st LT.

ñ  Did PMS on .50 cals

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 Helo

ñ  Got Crash & Salvage PQS signed off

 We got underway first thing on May 2^nd, and headed for Hong Kong.  It was only a two-day sail from Subic Bay to Hong Kong, and I was excited to get there.  I hadn’t been on board the Fresno when she visited Hong Kong during WestPac of ’88, so this would be the first time I would get to see it.  There was just something about seeing a port of call for the first time that made me as excited as a kid at Christmas!  That anticipation aside, it was a regular day at sea with the most thrilling part of the day coming when we actually got to land a helo on the flight deck, and start our numbers for the month – we might actually qualify to get our hazardous duty pay next payday!  I was doubly excited about this landing, because it qualified me as an official part of the Crash and Salvage Team, and not just as a “trainee” like I’d been so far.  The pay was the same, and the job was the same – it was just nice to be on par with the rest of the guys.

 

Thursday, 3MAY90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 3 Helos

ñ  .50 cal gun shoot – Marines only

ñ  Saw pod of killer whales

ñ  Downloaded SRBOC's

The day before we got to Hong Kong, we landed 3 more helos, and made preparations to anchor out in Hong Kong Bay.  There were no pier facilities in Hong Kong – it was a liberty call port only!  That meant no ship’s work unless you had duty.  We got to spend all day, every day exploring this British Territory. 

The excitement was beginning to mount, and to cap it off, we saw an entire pod of killer whales swimming next to the ship!  They were absolutely awesome!  I had seen Shamu and company at Sea World in San Diego, but I never imagined actually seeing orcas in the wild!  It was one of the most awe-inspiring and beautiful things I’ve ever seen.  I sat and watched them from the bridge wings until they finally swam out of sight.  It was so cool!  I spent that night writing letters home, telling everyone about what we’d seen.  I was glad to have had that experience.  For a kid from Wyoming – it’s not every day you get to see killer whales swimming free in the ocean!  Maybe this sailor thing wasn’t so bad.

Friday, 4MAY90 – Hong Kong

ñ  Pulled in in am

ñ  Mail call – letter from Mom, UW, postcard from Janet

ñ  Went out with Ford & O'Donnel

ñ  Got Carlsberg mug

ñ  Got Chewed

 Hong Kong was really interesting.  My first impression, as we pulled into the harbor to anchor, was that it was another Tokyo – crowded, dirty and unfriendly.  After five days of exploring the city, I found it to be crowded, not so dirty, friendly, and as exciting as any city I’d ever been in.  After I got out of active duty, I would often tell people that, of all the places I visited when I was overseas, Hong Kong was the only one I would be glad to go back to.  I really enjoyed our time here – booze was expensive, but the price of the other merchandise more than made up for it. 

 We pulled into the harbor and dropped anchor around 0800 that morning.  From our anchorage, we could see the big skyscrapers of the city, and watch boats sail all over this busy harbor.  There were ferries, small junks, sampans, other Navy ships, speedboats and yachts almost as big as the Fresno!  It was an incredibly busy waterfront.  When we dropped anchor, a boat pulled up alongside the Fresno with our pier instructions, and our mail.  We lowered a stairway over the side and secured it to the quarterdeck in order to give us a place to load and unload from the liberty boats, which would take us to the pier. 

 The liberty boats would take us from the Fresno to Navy Pier – a pier with a reception area that was used exclusively by the US Military.  The building on the pier reminded me of a small airport terminal.  There was a restaurant, a bar, a small shopping area, and a money exchange booth where we could convert our money into Hong Kong Dollars.  The exchange rate was 1.75 HK to 1 USD – it wasn’t bad, but still not as good as places like the P.I..  A beer out on town would usually run you around $5 US – Japan-like prices.  That first day, I jumped on a liberty boat with Jerry Ford and BM2 Danny O’Donnel to go explore Hong Kong.

 We walked all over the part of Hong Kong that was closest to the water.  There were several other parts – it was a very spread-out city, separated by a large mountain and surrounded by harbors and bays.  On the other side of the big harbor was the city of Kowloon – renowned for it’s electronics shopping and nightlife.  We figured we’d go check that out another night.  The British influence on Hong Kong was immediately evident – from the Union Jacks all over, to the Rolls-Royce dealerships, there was an unmistakably English flair to it all. 

 Jerry, Danny and I weren’t exactly sure where we were going, but we had traded in our money and had a pocket full of Hong Kong Dollars, and a powerful thirst!  We wandered around aimlessly, until we happened to stumble across a bar.  This first bar we found was run by a bunch of Australians!  We had a great time there for a while, drinking some Aussie beers and getting some info on where else to check out from some of the locals.  After a bit, we decided to go find something to eat, and since it was getting after lunchtime, the pub was clearing out anyway.  The three of us continued our walking tour of downtown Hong Kong and were amazed at the differences in almost every street and neighborhood.

Side streets of Hong Kong - 04MAY90

It seemed like one street you walked down was all glass skyscrapers and modern buildings, but when you turned the corner, it was like old-world China, with open-air butcher shops and walk-in dentistry offices everywhere.  One street was full of people in suits and ties, and the next was full of vagrants and beggars.  It was a true study in duality – part of the reason I liked it so much.  We found a mall, and wandered around for a bit, not really finding anything we wanted, but just taking it all in.  We then found a couple more bars, and the next thing we knew, it was ten o’clock at night, and we were pretty well on our way to chewed.

Beers at a bar in Hong Kong - 04May1990

It was then that we somehow discovered the Bull and Bear pub.  It was one of the places that the Aussies had told us to check out.  The Bull and Bear was supposedly the oldest pub in Hong Kong and was as close to a real English pub as you could find in the Territory.  All we knew was that they sold beer, and the waitress was cute and blonde.  Once we saw her, we were hooked.  We sat and drank beer after beer and flirted with the waitress only slightly more than she flirted with us.  Somewhere around closing time, I decided that I needed a souvenir of my first night in Hong Kong.  I had my eye on the heavy glass Carlsberg beer mug I was drinking out of and was trying to decide how I’d get it out of the bar without getting caught.  I finally decided to wrap it up in Danny’s sweatshirt and smuggle it out.  We finished off the last of our pitcher, and I wrapped up my souvenir and we headed for the door.  We hadn’t made it two steps past the table when the waitress stopped me. 

 “What ya doin’, love?”  She asked. 

 “What?”  

 “Where’s your mug?” 

 “What mug?”

  “The beer mug you got wrapped up in your friend’s sweatshirt there!” 

 “Um…Uh….well…..” I stammered. 

 “Don’t worry about it – you Yanks are okay – just don’t let anybody else see you, and get the Hell out of here”

 She gave me a peck on the cheek and sent us on our way.  We hustled out of the pub and laughed all the way back to the pier and the liberty boat back to the Frez.

 The ride back to the ship on the liberty boat wasn’t long – only about ten minutes or so.  But with a belly full of beer and some decent swells in the harbor, it sure seemed a lot longer.  Thankfully, they sold beer on the boat, so we had something to tide us over.  The popular beer at the bars in Hong Kong was Carlsberg, but on the liberty boats they sold that same crappy San Miguel we got in the P.I. – but in cans, no less!  Beggars can’t be choosers, so a can of San Miguel it was.  By the time we made it back to the ship, we were all glad to set foot on the relatively solid and stable decks of the Fresno.  We saluted the OOD, then headed down to the berthing area.  I put my newly acquired beer mug into my locker, then turned in for some sleep.  It had been a long, exciting day, and I had duty the next day, so I fell asleep immediately.  I couldn’t wait to check out more of Hong Kong.

 

Saturday, 5MAY90 – Hong Kong (Duty)

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Mail Call – nothing

ñ  Taped stuff for Sorby

ñ  20-24 POOW

ñ  Watched “The Abyss”

It was a duty day.  Normally, duty days weren’t so bad, but in a liberty port like Hong Kong, they were no fun at all.  Since every day was a holiday routine, there was no ship’s work to do, and you just had to sit there and watch guys go out on liberty all day.  You did have to be somewhat coherent – you couldn't just sleep all day, but it was boring for the most part.  We all took our turns with the duty days, but it still sucked. 

 There wasn’t much to do this day – just the regular daily things like taking magazine temperatures and ensuring that all our spaces were secured.  I did have to stand the 8-Midnight watch, but it was nothing too exciting.  The big fun for the day came when Jon Sorby and I hung out in the armory and we used my new stereo to make some tapes for him. 

 I spent the majority of my day hanging out up by the gun mounts, just watching all of the activity in the harbor.  It was fascinating to see a waterway as busy as this.  Since I came from a land-locked hometown, the way of life of these folks who lived on and near the water was completely foreign to me.  It was neat to watch.  At one point, a private yacht sailed by the Fresno that was absolutely amazing!  The yacht had its own helicopter, a couple of speedboats on its davits, and a radar system that absolutely embarrassed the one on our ship!  It was beyond big – it was “stupid big”.  I never did find out who owned it, but it had to have been someone with piles of money – my guess is Middle Eastern oil money.

Sunday, 6MAY90 – Hong Kong

ñ  Went to Stanley Market w/ Grace, Dublin & Anderson

ñ  Bought 1 pair pants

ñ  Mail Call – nothing

ñ  Went to Mad Dogs – ate KFC with Lusher

 Sunday, April 6^th – my first full day of liberty in Hong Kong.  I had made plans to go exploring with Jon Grace, SR Dublin and SA Anderson for the day.  All of them had been on liberty the day before, so they had some idea of where to go and what to do.  I was still pretty unsure of what there was to see in Hong Kong, save for the few bars we’d been to on our first day.  I just kind of tagged along and let the other three guys show me around. 

 Our first stop was a place called the China Fleet Club.  It was a big building that contained a hotel, some kind of a dinner club and a whole bunch of stores that sold everything from TV’s to Fine China.  I’m not sure exactly what the deal was with the China Fleet Club – but it seemed like some kind of a Base Exchange-type of place.  I don’t know if the US Government or US Military ran it, but it was full of American Servicemen and everyone seemed to be there, shopping.  The prices on things there were incredible – you could get complete sets of Fine China for $40!  Electronics were cheap, and you could get video games that you couldn’t find in the U.S., and all kinds of cool things like that.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have much money left, so I missed out on most of the big-ticket items that a lot of guys were picking up.  Several of the Fresno’s Officers and Chiefs had flown their wives to Hong Kong to meet us, and most of them went on big spending sprees while they were there.  I know our Chief, Senior Chief Bulletier, flew his wife in, and they spent over $10,000 on stuff for their house – things like chandeliers and stereo equipment.  Must be nice to have that kind of cash to blow!

 After we had checked out the Fleet Club, the four of us headed for the city bus system to go to a place called Stanley Market.  Stanley Market was an area they had discovered the day before and were excited to get back to.  According to them, it was like a big, outdoor factory outlet mall.  All of the clothing brands made in Hong Kong sold their seconds there, and you could find some incredible buys.  Stanley Market was across the harbor, and over the mountain from the main part of Hong Kong, and the bus ride took about 45 minutes.  It was a great ride, with views of the city that were wonderful.  By the time we got there, I had a lot better idea of where I was, and how Hong Kong was laid out.  The final leg of the trip into the Market took us around a corner to an overlook of the most beautiful bay I’d ever seen.  There were white sand beaches surrounding absolutely brilliant blue water.  Two or three sailboats were floating in the bay, and it was one of the most idyllic scenes I’d ever experienced.  I took a picture of it from the bus, and the resulting picture was one of my favorites from our entire cruise.  Once past the overlook, the bus went down a steep hill, and finally came to a stop outside Stanley Market.

Harbor on the way to Stanley Market in Hong Kong - 06MAY90

 The Market itself was busy – full of vendors and shoppers.  Their offerings were wonderful – you could get full sets of silk pajamas for $10, kimonos for $20 and leather coats for $50 or less.  Brand name clothing, like Bugle Boy or Gotcha! (okay, brand name in the late 80’s) was dirt cheap – pants for $5, shirts for $3.  It was the same stuff we were paying $20 to $50 for in the States.  You had to be careful you inspected the stuff for defects and flaws before you bought it, but there were some awesome deals to be had.  The four of us shopped and looked around most of the morning, and at lunchtime we found a Pizza Hut tucked away in one of the side streets of the Market.  It didn’t taste quite the same, but it was pizza nonetheless.  It was awesome!  It had been SO long since we’d had any American-style junk food!  After we ate, we looked around a bit more, then we all made a couple of purchases.  I bought a pair of $5 pants, and then we went back to the bus stop and climbed aboard.  As the bus climbed the hill, and Stanley Market disappeared behind us, I knew I had to come up with some money somehow so that I could come back and buy some more clothes, and maybe a present for Janet.  I made a mental note to myself to go see one of the slushers when I got back to the ship.

 The bus (which was made to look like one of the famous English double-deckers) soon pulled up in front of Navy Pier, where we all got out and headed for the liberty boat back to the Fresno.  It was still early afternoon, but we had all decided to go back to the ship, then regroup and head out for the night.  We got back to the Fresno, and I walked down to my berthing area, stored my purchases, then took a short nap to prepare myself for the night to come. 

 I slept a little longer than I had planned, and by the time I woke up, the three guys I’d spent the day with had already left for the evening.  I had almost resigned myself to going out alone, when I ran into Jim Lusher, who was just getting ready to leave himself.  Jim and I got along well, so I was glad to have his company.  The two of us left the ship and hopped the boat to the pier.

 When we got to the pier, we made our way to the pierside bar and had a couple of beers, while we decided where to go.  We made up our minds to head back to the Aussie Bar we had found the first day in port.  From there, we figured we'd get directions on where to go from some of the locals.  We walked out towards the bar, but soon got sidetracked by some other guys from the ship that we ran into.  Jim and I hung out with them for a bit, drinking at a couple of other bars.  Finally, we asked someone where we could go to meet any English girls, and they told us the name of a part of town we hadn’t been to yet.  Jim and I hailed a cab, told him where to take us, and we zoomed off across Hong Kong. 

 By the time we got to the English part of town, I was completely lost.  The cabby took us on these hilly side streets that made San Francisco look like Kansas!  He then stopped in front of a bar called "Mad Dogs" (as in Joe Cocker's album, 'Mad Dogs and Englishmen') and told us that this was where all of the English girls hung out.  We thanked him, paid our fare and headed in.  The bar was hopping!  There were all kinds of girls there, and we were excited about the possibilities.  We walked in, went up to the bar and ordered some beers.  As soon as they heard our American accents, it was like we had contracted leprosy or something.  No one wanted anything to do with us – they hated Americans and weren’t afraid to tell us that.  We got one round of beers, but getting another round was something entirely different.  We couldn’t seem to get the attention of any of the bartenders or waitresses, and everyone just tried to ignore us.  Finally, we gave in and walked out.  I could have sworn I heard laughing and cheering behind us as the door closed but maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me.

 Jim and I weren’t sure where to go next – especially since we had no idea where we were in the first place.  We were both hungry and decided to flag down a cab and have him take us some place to eat.  Lucky for us, the first cab we saw stopped, and the driver understood just enough English to take us where we wanted to go.  He went about two blocks, turned the corner, and it looked like we were on Hollywood Boulevard!  There were huge neon signs everywhere – from stores and bars up and down the street.  It was amazing, and we were keeping track of all the bars we wanted to go to after we ate.  Then the cabbie then told us that these were Chinese-only bars, and that they wouldn’t let the “English” in.  Oh well, maybe we’d just eat, then head back down to the bars by Navy Pier.  The cabbie pulled up in front of a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Jim and I hopped out and ran in.

 When I reached into my pocket to grab my wallet, I realized that I was completely broke.  I had spent my last few dollars on the beer at the rude English bar.  Jim told me he’d get my dinner, so we scanned the menu and finally decided to order two 2-piece chicken dinners.  Easy enough, huh?  Wrong.  The girl running the cash register was Chinese, and evidently understood very little English.  About all she could do was smile, nod her head and say,

 “Uh-huh.  Okay”. 

 We didn’t know this…yet.  I stood back as Jim stepped up to the cash register to place our seemingly simple order. 

 “Help you?” the cashier said (okay, maybe she knew a little more than two words of English – but not much more!) 

 “Um yeah – I’d like two 2-piece chicken dinners.” 

 “Uh-huh – two piece chicken dinner”, and she promptly rung up ONE chicken dinner. 

 “No – I need TWO 2-piece chicken dinners.” Jim repeated.

 “Uh-huh – two piece chicken dinner” and she pointed to the register, where she had rung up ONE dinner. 

 “Okay let’s try this again – I need one 2-piece chicken dinner, and ANOTHER 2-piece chicken dinner.  See – TWO 2-piece chicken dinners!”  Jim was now losing his patience but was still trying hard. 

 “Ahhh…2-piece chicken dinner?”  The girl was starting to question herself now, and probably wondering why Jim was getting so irate. 

 And then it happened – Jim snapped and said, “Look you stupid bitch.  What I want is TWO 2-piece chicken dinners, not to mention the fact that I’d like to fuck the shit out of you at the town doin’.  Did you understand that, you stupid slant-eyed whore?” 

 I was shocked – I just stood there with my mouth open, no believing I’d just heard what I thought I’d heard! 

 “Did you understand me THAT time, you dumb bitch?” Jim continued. 

 The cashier, none the wiser, just stood there, smiling, and saying “Uh-huh”. 

 About then, a manager who must have understood English, ran up to the front and relieved the confused, but still smiling, cashier.  “Um yes sir – that was two 2-piece chicken dinners – is there anything else I can get for you, sir?”  

 “Nope – that’s about it” 

 Our meals arrived almost instantaneously.  Jim grabbed his, while I tried hard to pick mine up without making eye contact with anybody.  I was absolutely mortified.  Jim seemed to find nothing wrong with his actions, and I’ll admit that I did find a certain level of humor in what he’d said…once I was outside of the store, and well out of their neighborhood!

 When we had eaten and beaten a hasty retreat from the restaurant, we flagged down another cab and had him take us back to the bars by Navy Pier.  We had just conclusively proven to ourselves why the rest of civilization talks badly about sailors – so why not complete the scenario by getting drunk and proving everyone right?  We found some of our shipmates at a bar and joined in the festivities of the evening, relating our night’s experiences to anyone who’d listen.  I knew that I was out of money, and people soon got tired of buying me drinks, so I left the bar and started toward the pier and the boat back to the ship. 

 As I walked down the busy street, I noticed that on almost every corner, there was a 7-11 convenience store.  They were everywhere!  I hadn’t realized it before, but it seemed like there was at least one on every block.  As I rounded the corner, I looked into one of the 7-11’s, and saw a bunch of guys from the Fresno.  There stood Haulin and Powell, Downtown Braun, Jerry Ford, Tony Melis and a few other guys.  They were standing in the back of the store, with brown bags in their hands and talking. 

 I walked in the store to a rousing chorus of “Hey Pete!” and “Come over and have a drink” - I was intrigued. 

Hong Kong 7-11, our bar of choice - 06MAY90

 I walked over and found out that the guys had decided that the bars were too expensive, and that you could buy a big can or bottle of beer at 7-11 for about half the price.  Since it was illegal to drink on the street, they had just decided that they would buy their beer and drink it in the store. 

 “But don’t the storekeepers get pissed?” I asked. 

 “Sure – eventually they get mad and kick us out, but we just go to the next one down the street.  This is our third 7-11 so far.” 

 I laughed, bummed a couple of bucks off somebody, and bought myself a “man can” of Pabst Blue Ribbon.  As I stood in the back of 7-11, drinking, I realized that we’d just found our bar of choice in Hong Kong – 7-11 it was!  Presently, some MP’s came along and kicked us out, so we went around the corner, and out of their sight, found another 7-11 and had another round.  It was quite the operation.  Getting drunk at 7-11…I loved being a sailor!

 We finally got tired of drinking on the run and decided to head back to the ship.  By now, we were a group of about ten, so we filled up the majority of one liberty boat.  The trip back to the ship was marked with arguments over the price of beer on the boat, and a couple of near fist-fights between one of the Marines and one of the guys in our Engineering department.  It was quickly quieted, and we all went back to our drinking until we pulled up to the ladder up to the Fresno’s quarterdeck.  We filed off of the boat and up to the main deck, where we checked in and headed to our separate berthing areas to sleep it off and get ready to do it all over again the next night. 

 

Monday, 7MAY90 – Hong Kong

ñ  Went to Stanley Market w/ Ford, Haulin, Braun, Dallas

ñ  Bought 2 pants, 3 shirts, tie, Janet's PJ's

ñ  Mail call – letter from Dad & John & Sandy

ñ  Went to Kowloon with Ford, Judson & Braun - T-shirts

I didn’t get out of my rack until around 09:00 this morning, and only then because someone was playing the TV too damn loud!  I got up and jumped in the shower, then got dressed and tried to decide what to do with my day.  Since I had duty the next day, this would be my last day in Hong Kong, and I wanted to make the most of it.  I knew I wanted to go back to Stanley Market and get something for Janet, and I wanted to go across the harbor to check out the nightlife on Kowloon.  Unfortunately, I was completely out of money.  I couldn’t see any way around it, so I finally broke down and went to find one of the slushers and borrowed $40 with the promise to repay him $75 come payday.  I HATED slushers, but I guess they did serve their purpose.  I was lucky – I only used them once or twice, but I knew guys that owed slushers their ENTIRE paychecks on payday.  I never really understood that, because the majority of our bills were paid – housing, food, utilities…all we had to pay for was our recreation and a few uniform items.  But I could sure see how a couple of visits to the slushers could begin to eat up your money, and the cycle could quickly grow out of control.  I managed to avoid this, but only by careful budgeting of my money – things like only taking part of my money with me at night, knowing that otherwise, I’d spend it all. 

 Showered, changed and with a pocket full of usuriously borrowed money, I was ready to take on Hong Kong one last time.  I headed toward the quarterdeck to wait for the next liberty boat and get on land in time for lunch.  While waiting for the boat, I ran into Jerry Ford, Steve Haulin, Downtown Braun and SR Dallas.   We all decided to head to Stanley Market together.  We loaded on the boat, rode to the pier, then caught the bus up and over the mountain to Stanley Market.  The second visit to the Market wasn’t as impressive as the first, but this time, I had money in my pocket and shopping to do.

  I started out with Janet – I had to find something neat to send her.  She had to have something cool from her world traveler boyfriend – something that said “He’s in the Orient”.  I finally decided on a pair of blue silk pajamas.  I dropped $10 on them, hoping she’d think that I spent a LOT more!  I’d never tell!  I then went shopping for myself.  I picked up a couple more pairs of pants, and a couple of shirts for a grand total of about $20.  Then, on the way out of the Market, I found a stand selling ties.  The ties all had tags on the back that said “100% pure Italian silk”.  They cost $1.50 – pure Italian silk my ass!  I bought one of them, and then we got on the bus and headed to the pier.  Back at the pier, the big debate was whether or not to go to the ship to put our purchases away, or just to get lockers at the pier to put them in.  I chose to go back to the ship.  A couple of us jumped on the boat and headed home to get our mail, put our stuff away and get ready for the night’s activities. 

 Later that evening, a big group of us were ready to go back to shore and enjoy some more Hong Kong nightlife.  There were four or five of us that wanted to go over to Kowloon to check that out, so that’s what we did.  Jerry Ford, Terry Judson, Downtown Braun and I got off the liberty boat at Navy Pier, and walked over to another pier, where we caught a ferry back across the harbor to the city of Kowloon.  Kowloon was very similar to Hong Kong in many ways, but in others it was completely different.  Kowloon seemed to be much more slanted toward the Chinese culture than was Hong Kong.  The restaurants and shops were all Chinese, and the majority of the store signs and bar signs were written in Mandarin, and the menus in the restaurants were a little different...

Kowloon restaurant menu (#2 is "barbecued pigeon") - 07MAY90

We soon found out that Kowloon was best known as the place to buy electronics and video games.  They had tons of stores hawking the latest gadgets (TV’s, cameras, VCR’s and the like) and several more specializing in the latest video games – most of which were not yet available in the U.S.  A lot of the guys wanted to buy stuff, but by the time we got there, most of the stores were closed for the night.  We did a lot of window shopping, and then found our way toward the bars.

Downtown Kowloon - 07MAY90

 The bars we found were mostly English-owned, but they were much friendlier toward Americans than the ones Jim and I had been in the night before.  We spent quite a while there getting to know the various English beers on a first name basis and experiencing all that they had to offer.  By the time the night was over, we were definitely big fans of English beer, and English beer was definitely fans of our livers.  We were feeling absolutely NO pain as we made our way back across Kowloon, toward the ferry landing. 

GMG3 Peterson in his Stanley Market Bugle Boy pants - Kowloon pier - 07MAY90

 On the way, I decided I needed a souvenir from Hong Kong, so I drunkenly bartered with a street vendor and bought three T-Shirts for the princely sum of $3.00!  None of them fit, and they were so thin you could see through them but – hey, I got them for a buck a piece!  While we were waiting for the ferry to take us back to Hong Kong, I found a “your weight and fortune” scale, where I blew a couple of worthless Hong Kong coins (I couldn’t keep track of what coin was worth what).  The reason this little episode sticks in my mind, was that the weight that came out of the scale in kilograms instead of pounds.  I had never seen Kilos before, and it took me forever to figure out the kg/lb conversion table!  It’s hard to do when you’re drunk off your ass!

Fresno crew aboard a Hong Kong liberty boat - 07MAY90

 The ferry got us back to Hong Kong, where we stumbled over to Navy Pier and found the Fresno liberty boat waiting.  We jumped on and went back to the Frez for the night – enjoying more than a couple of beers on the way.  We decided that all liberty boats should sell beer, and we should make it our mission to provide liquid refreshments on every boat we got on from this point forward.  Ahh – the best laid plans.  That plan would have worked perfectly, except for the fact that our next port-of-call was Singapore – a country where you could go to jail for chewing gum in public!  Details, details, details.  We finished our drunken scheming and planning just as we arrived at the Fresno.  We disembarked the liberty boat, climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck, and headed to our berthing areas where we turned in for the night.  Duty the next day would be a day for sleeping, and a day for recovery.

 

Tuesday, 8MAY90 – Hong Kong - Duty

ñ  04-0800 POOW

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Mail call – nothing

ñ  Played Rummy in armory with Tex – lost

ñ  Slept for 3 hrs

Yet another boring duty day anchored out in Hong Kong Bay.  It was similar to my first duty day – I did my regular daily chores like taking temperatures in our magazines and checking space security.  Mail call came and went, and I got nothing – it was always a downer when you didn’t get any mail.  I spent a lot of time watching the activity in the harbor, and then spent the evening in the armory playing rummy with SN Barret – whom we affectionately called “Tex”.  Tex was a lot better rummy player than I was, and he pretty much took me to school.  We played cards until almost one in the morning – which wouldn’t have been so bad, had it not been for the fact that I had the 0400-0800 watch.  I got about three hours of sleep, and then the Messenger came down and woke me up to stand the last watch we would stand in Hong Kong.

 That last watch was actually kind of fun.  The OOD and I sat and looked at the Hong Kong skyline from the Frez.  Some of the bigger buildings had HUGE neon signs on them – signs that were ten stories high!  The whole city looked like a weird, commercialized Las Vegas.  We sat and pointed out the different buildings, and we broke out a pair of binoculars to see if we could spot anybody in them.  It was childish, yes, but a LOT more interesting than most quarterdeck watches were!  The big topic of conversation was about our next port visit and what was to come immediately after.  Our next port of call was Singapore – a place none of us had ever been before, and the day after we left there, we would cross the equator and have our “Crossing The Line” ceremony, where all of us slimy wogs who hadn’t crossed the equator yet would become Shellbacks.  Those of us who were still wogs were really worried about the initiation ceremony – we had heard horror stories about it since the day most of us joined the Navy.  The Shellbacks didn’t spare the details, either – they liked to prepare us for what was to be the beating of our lives.  That whole watch, we talked about the upcoming ceremony, interspersed with moments of playing peeping Tom into the surrounding skyscrapers.  It was one of the more enjoyable watches I ever spent onboard the Fresno.  What does that say about me?  I’m not sure I really want to know. 

 The long and short of it was that I thoroughly enjoyed our port visit to Hong Kong.  It was an amazingly diverse city, and you could find just about anything you wanted to within its boundaries.  The city’s sex trade was a lot more hidden than places like the P.I., but it could be found if you looked hard enough.  I didn’t look too hard for that, but I did manage to find the best deals on booze and a few gifts for friends and family.  As I said before, Hong Kong was about the only place we went on our tour that I’d be willing to go back to on my own dime.  It was a fun couple of days, and one of the few places we went to that truly intrigued me.  As we got set to pull up anchor and leave Hong Kong, I knew I’d miss it, and I knew I’d never see another place like it.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO:  HONG KONG TO SINGAPORE

Many of the guys I talked to felt the same way about Hong Kong.  It had been a very memorable port visit.  But as was always the case, it was now time to weigh anchor and steam off to parts unknown – or in this case, parts known…Singapore.  It was six days of sailing to get us there, and we had a full schedule of activities on the way.  There were several helo landings planned, an UNREP, and the big happening – the Wog Queen beauty pageant.  All of this would come later, as our first job was to get out of Hong Kong harbor safely.

Wednesday, 9MAY90

ñ  Left Hong Kong

ñ  Lusher filled out chit for 3^rd Div.

ñ  Safety Standdown

ñ  Rained all day

ñ  Played Rummy with Tex – beat him

 We managed to raise the anchor and steam away from Hong Kong without incident – somehow missing all of the smaller boats in our way.  As we made our way out to the open sea, many of us stood topside and watched Hong Kong fade away behind us.  It had been a great visit, and there were many happy memories that would stay with us for the rest of our lives.  Soon, however, it began to rain, and chased us below decks to get on with the business at hand – running a U.S. Navy ship at sea.  We settled back into our daily at-sea routines, trying to keep ourselves busy in preparation of our next port visit. 

 On our first day out, Jim Lusher officially turned in his request chit to transfer to Third Division from Deck Department.  Jim was a welcome addition to our crew, and his work ethic and warped sense of humor fit right in.  Jim and I got along well, and I enjoyed helping him learn his way around the Gunner’s Mate World.

 

Thursday, 10MAY90

ñ  UNREPPED with USNS Hassayampa – took on fuel

ñ  Filght Quarters & DLQ – 10+ landings!

ñ  Didn't shoot for UNREP

ñ  Played rummy with Tex and & Jud - lost

 The rain continued for the first day or so - just hard enough to keep us below decks, and just long enough to allow me to avenge my defeat to Tex in a spirited session of rummy-playing.  As the rain lifted, we found ourselves preparing to do an underway replenishment (UNREP) with the USNS Hassayampa to take on fuel.  Since there had been no port facilities in Hong Kong, we had to top off our tanks at sea.  It would actually be a little over a month until we would be somewhere that we could replenish our fuel and take on stores in port.  This was the longest at-sea stretch of our entire deployment.  Over the next five weeks, we would only spend eight days in port.  This was the time when we learned what being a sailor was all about. 

GMG2 Muna - UNREP Line Thrower - 10MAY90

 After our UNREP with the Hassayampa, we got called to flight quarters, and landed more than ten helicopters, as they did exercises on and off our deck.  Nobody on the Flight Deck crew minded at all, as the landings pretty much guaranteed the fact that we’d be receiving the extra hazardous duty pay for the month!

Friday, 11MAY90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Did PMS on M14's

ñ  Read “Punish The Sinners”

ñ  Secured water from 1900-0500

ñ  Flight Quarters – 1 helo

ñ  Watched Harriers do bombing runs

 On our third day out of Hong Kong, we ran into a little problem – the ship’s machinery that made fresh water broke down (again), and they had to secure all of the water on the ship.  We had no fresh water from 1900 that night until 0500 the next morning.  No showers, no drinking water, no coffee.  About the only thing that you could still do was flush the toilet – once.  Water hours were always tough on the crew, but A-Gang worked through the night and got us up and running again before too long.  With a ship as old as the Fresno, it was a wonder that things worked as well as they did, I guess. 

 One of the more interesting things we got to watch were the Harrier jump jets from the USS Peleliu doing practice bombing runs by our ship.  I had never seen a Harrier in action before, and they were awesome to see.  Their vertical take-off was really something to see.  I always enjoyed watching all of the aircraft go by, and we got to see everything from Harriers to F-14’s to Sea Cobras to Hueys.  Although I wasn’t a big fan of flying after my little incident over Guam, I was still enthralled by watching the fighters and attack helicopters at work.  You just never quite do get over being a wide-eyed country boy, I guess.

 

Saturday, 12MAY90

ñ  ONLY 2 MONTHS LEFT

ñ  Did PMS on .50 Cal lockers

ñ  Senior, Muna & Will made their Wog shillelaghs

ñ  Flight Qtrs – Peleliu CO flying Huey – refueled

ñ  10+ landings

ñ  Secured water again

 By the time the 12^th of May rolled around, the mood on the ship was changing.  Not only did the date mark our 2 Months-To-Go Anniversary, but it was yet another day closer to the Fresno crossing the equator, and the big initiation ceremony.  Since the dawn of navigable sailing, there have been ceremonies for sailors when the crossed the equator.  Those who had been across the equator aboard were called “Shellbacks”, and those who had never crossed were known as “Pollywogs” (or just “Wogs”).  It was an ancient tradition, and one every sailor knew was coming when they neared the equator.  We were getting closer and closer to that mystical 0 degrees of latitude, and everyone on board was on edge for one reason or another – the wogs were terrified about the beatings they were about to receive, and the Shellbacks were excited about the beatings they were about to give. 

 The Shellback beating tool of choice was called a “shillelagh”.  It was usually a two-foot long piece of old 2 ½ inch fire hose, which the Shellbacks would soak for a couple of days in salt water to make it good and hard, and then they would double over one end of the hose and wrap it with electrical tape to make a good handle.  Then, with a permanent marker, they would write the names of their “Wog bitches” – the slimy Pollywogs they were coming after during the ceremony.  The rule was that if you had your name written on somebody’s shillelagh, they got to beat you with it until your name was worn off!  Something to think about!  As we sat in the armory on that 12^th of May, I got to watch Third Division’s Shellbacks, Senior Chief, GMG2 Muna and Will, make their shillelaghs.  My name was written on all three of them!  I wasn’t too worried about it though, because my name was written underneath (and in much smaller letters) than Grace’s name.  I had a feeling that Jon’s name was written on a LOT of shillelaghs!  The teasing, the taunting and the hard times were beginning, as the Shellbacks were starting to realize that their big day was coming, and those of us Wogs who had NO idea what to expect were all bracing for the worst.  Another call to flight quarters quickly broke the mood, as we ran to take our places on the flight deck.  We did another ten landings, and then it happened – the scariest thing that EVER happened to me aboard the Fresno. 

 The C.O. of the USS Peleliu had, at one time, been a qualified helicopter pilot.  Evidently, he had decided to go flying again, so he hopped in a Huey, and practiced his chops over the open ocean.  That was all well and good, but then he decided that he’d better practice a shipboard refueling, and he chose the Fresno as his gas station.  We carried a small amount of helicopter fuel – just enough to do an emergency refueling or two if times got tough.  We had never practiced doing one, so I guess everyone involved thought it sounded like a great training exercise.  Nobody bothered to ask me what I thought, however.  We quickly found out that we were in for a little more than we had bargained for, when the C.O made his first pass, and was waved off on his attempt to land on our flight deck.  He was just coming in at a weird angle and feeling that “better safe than sorry” was the best course of action, our Landing Officer waved him off.  The C.O .then circled around and came in for another try.  This time, he was carrying too much speed, and when his skids hit the deck, they just kept on sliding, and he slid right off the port side of the flight deck.  He managed to catch himself before he hit the water, pulled up, circled around and came in for one more try.  By this time, we were all sure that he was going to fly into one of our smokestacks or something, and we were busy looking for places to hide.

 During flight quarters, I was the #1 plugman.  My job was to stand beside a fire station, and if anything crashed on the deck, I was to turn the lever which opened up the flow of water to the fire hoses.  The only problem with that plan was that I stood outside of the rear smokestack, about five feet from the edge of the ship. My position was the closest to the starboard edge of the flight deck, and closest to the front edge as well.  When we were doing flight ops, we dropped the rescue netting that surrounded the flight decks down to its horizontal “ready” position, so my position was that much more vulnerable.  One wrong step, one accidental trip, and I was going right over the side, and I had to hope that the netting would catch me, or I was going to be really, really wet. 

 Ordinarily, this position didn’t bother me at all, but after two really ugly attempts to land just a few feet away from me, I was beginning to realize the gravity of my situation.  I saw that the C.O. of the Peleliu was coming in to land, and he was flying towards us from my side!  As he neared the ship, I began to wonder if he was a little low.  Then he got closer, and I realized he WAS a little low.  He got a little closer, and other people began to see the same thing.  The next thing I knew, the Huey was about fifty yards away, closing fast, and was still about ten feet too low.  I just stood there and stared, as I watched the blades slice through the air, seemingly inches from my head.  I could actually see the pilot’s face, and see his eyes opened wide with fear and/or surprise!  My expression matched his, I’m sure.  At this point, I lost track of everything else around me except for the rapidly approaching helicopter.  I knew that this was it – I was going to be killed by a helicopter being flown by a joyriding Captain!  I gritted my teeth and looked death right in the face as the helo was suddenly right on top of me.  And then, miraculously, it veered upwards, and its running gear missed the helo nets by what had to have been no more than a foot.  The rotor blades narrowly missed our smoke stacks and guy wires, and the helo shot up and away from the Fresno.  It had missed us – barely.  I just stood there for a minute and forced myself to concentrate and breathe!  I don’t think I have ever been that scared, or that sure of my impending doom in my entire life.  The helicopter finally gave up and headed back to the Peleliu where it had LOTS of flight deck to land on.  When it was gone, and we were secured from flight quarters, I put away my helmet and red flight deck jersey, then went down to the berthing area and changed my pants.  My hands were still shaking an hour later, as I wrote letters to my entire family that night.  Did I mention that it was scary?  WHEW!!

 

Sunday, 13MAY90

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Hairy Buffalo & Wog Beauty Contest & Wog Dog Show

ñ  Captain shot sea snakes

ñ  Took pictures of sunset.

ñ  Name put on Ford's Shillelagh

ñ  Rosorio – Wog Queen

 The night of the twelfth we went on water hours again, as A-gang finished up their repair work to the desalinization equipment.  The next day (the 13^th, fittingly enough) was the Wog Dog Beauty Contest, and we had to have running water for that!  It was an absolutely beautiful day at sea – the temperature was warm, and the skies were blue and the seas were calm.  They had called Holiday Routine, so there was no ship’s work to do, and they were holding a Hairy Buffalo on the flight deck for lunch.  Ordinarily, it would have been a great day to be a sailor, but for those of us unlucky enough to be Wogs, that feeling just never quite materialized because right after lunch, the beauty contest began. 

The purpose of the Wog Dog Beauty Contest was to pick a ship’s “Wog Queen”. The one sailor and one Marine who were selected became the escorts of King Neptune and were automatically granted Shellback status without having to undergo the initiation.  It sounded like a good deal, but when we found out what you had to do to win, we changed our minds.  They mustered all of the ship’s company (Marines, too – they weren’t exempt) on the flight deck, and the C.O. and X.O. took their places as judges of the contest.  The pageant started with the introduction of the Wog Dogs.  

USMC and their Wog Dog contestant - 13MAY90

The Wog Dogs were the Wogs each division chose to be their representative.  The chosen Dogs were then chained together, or led on a leash, out into the middle of the flight deck on their hands and knees, where they held the Dog Fights.  Two at a time, the Wog Dogs would pair off, and the dog who was the chosen winner would move on, until we finally had our winning Wog Dog.  The winner got to become the pet of King Neptune and was afforded the same luxury of avoiding the initiation to become a Shellback.  Once the Wog Dog contest was complete, they brought forth the Queens.

 

Wog Queen contestant with a "surprise" for the Capitan - 13MAY90

The Beauty Pageant was hilarious.  Once again, each division chose their Wog representative, and that person was dressed up in women’s clothing for the contest.  There were guys in bikinis, guys in short shorts and guys in lingerie and makeup.  Where the lingerie came from, I’m not sure, and I don’t really think I want to know.  There were probably some very puzzled Navy wives wondering where the Hell their sexy red teddy went.  Wouldn’t they be shocked to find out that, at this very moment, it was being worn by a 225-pound Marine?  It was a scary sight to be sure!  The contestants would parade their wares in front of the judges, and the one who was deemed sexiest was named the Wog Queen and took his/her place at King Neptune’s side during the ceremony and became a Shellback without the beatings. 

 Although there were four of us in Third Division who were Wogs, none of us would volunteer to be the Third Division Queen.  All of us decided that it was better to take our beatings than to parade around the ship in lingerie!  They chose one Marine and one Navy Wog Queen.  The sailor who won was an SH named Rosario.  He was the “sexiest woman” in the crew.  Scary.  The funniest contestant was the guy who came into the contest with a carefully concealed mouthful of toothpaste, and then during his time on the stage, he dove under the C.O.’s table then came up and spit out all of the white goo.  It was hilarious.  The ceremony was good for a laugh, but put just a little more fear into us Wogs as to what we could expect when we crossed the line in five days.

Monday, 14MAY90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Followed by a Soviet nuke cruiser

ñ  Payday - $152.00

ñ  Flight Qtrs – DLQ's

ñ  GQ drills & Abandon ship drills

ñ  Wrote bunch of letters

Soviet cruiser on the way to Singapore - 14MAY90

 The next day was business as usual.  We did flight quarters and landed a few more helos, which would help us get our bonus money.  We then did a GQ drill and an abandon ship drill.  At one point during the day, we were followed for a time by a Soviet nuclear missile cruiser.  It was kind of neat to see the “enemy” that close.  The Cold War was pretty much over by then, but since we didn’t have anyone else to call our enemy, the Soviets were still the bad guys by default.  We could watch their sailors doing calisthenics on their deck, and our signalmen sent signals back and forth with theirs.  It was an interesting, albeit brief, encounter.  We were soon back at work, and when they passed the word for payday, we made our way to the mess decks to get our cash.  Since we hadn’t done enough helo landings the two weeks prior to the pay period, I got stuck with the same old $152.  I couldn’t wait until the next payday, when all of that hazardous duty pay would kick in (which I thoroughly believed I deserved now!).  With a pocket full of cash, we were all ready to pull into Singapore to enjoy a few days’ liberty. 

 Singapore would be another liberty port like Hong Kong had been, but that’s where the similarity ended.  Where Hong Kong had been loose and fun, Singapore was much more straight-laced and formal.  We had a good time there, but were much more mindful of ourselves and our actions.  We sailed towards our destination that night, and first thing in the morning we found ourselves just off the coast of the city-state they called Singapore.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE:  SINGAPORE AND THE BIRD ZOO

 

Tuesday, 15MAY90 - Singapore 

ñ  Downloaded SRBOC's

ñ  Mail call – letter from Anna, 3 from Janet, 1 from AT&T

ñ  Went shopping & sightseeing, then club-hopping with Grace – got chewed

 Our stay in Singapore was…different.  To start with, there was no big harbor there, and no piers.  At least no deep-water piers for large ships, so for us to make a port call there we had to anchor off the coast and take a 45-minute liberty boat ride into a small pier in their harbor.  Singapore was a city/state, and home to one of the most heavily regulated and restricted societies we’d ever come across.  There were laws against everything from spitting, cussing and chewing gum in public (fines and jail time) to drunk driving (death penalty!).  We were told to be on our best behavior, and they told us enough horror stories that most of us kept our noses clean and stayed out of trouble.  They also told us that Singapore was a haven for “betty boys” – men who were undergoing sex change treatments but wore dresses and makeup and looked like women.  They warned us to be very, very careful when talking to women in Singapore, partly because of the strict laws, but also because there was a good chance she was actually a man! 

 The morning of the 15^th, we pulled in as close as we could to the harbor, and then dropped anchor.  There were hundreds of other ships anchored out within sight of us, and the water was full of liberty boats zipping to and from all of the merchant ships and foreign Navy ships anchored out.  There several Soviet Navy ships at anchor – it was a big port of call for the Russians.  We ran into a lot of Russian sailors out on town and were told to not talk to them.  This was not really a problem, as there weren’t many of us who spoke Russian, anyway (except Jerry Ford, who’d been to linguist school).  Once we dropped anchor and secured our ladder down the side, we got ready to receive the first liberty boat to shore.  I had liberty the first two days in port, but on our last day I had duty, so I had two nights to rip it up and have a little fun.  Mission accomplished – I think.

 When the first liberty boat arrived, it brought us our mail from the past week at sea.  I got a letter from my old flame, Anna, and 3 from Janet!  I had to read those before I could go ashore, so I missed the first couple of liberty boats.  By the time I was ready to go, the majority of the ship’s crew was already gone.  I ended up hanging out with Jon Grace and a couple of guys from Deck Department, as we hopped on a boat and enjoyed the warm, tropical morning weather on our way to shore.  Singapore was beautiful.  There were big, modern skyscrapers (it was the financial capital of Asia, after all) and there were small, crowded shops.  No matter what, though, it was clean.  You never saw trash or graffiti or anything like that in Singapore.  On the way into the harbor, you passed a big statue of a lion – the symbol of the city.  I got a neat picture of it, and it remains the one indelible image of Singapore lased into my brain.  Once on shore, we decided to do a little sightseeing.

On a liberty boat, sailing into Singapore - 15MAY90 

The group of us spent the day walking around Singapore and doing some shopping and just looking around.  There was an odd collection of shops they called a “mall” in the building where the pier was, and we all checked that out, then we went out onto the town.  It was a very busy place, full of businessmen and tourists.  It looked like any modern American city, except that everyone was Asian.  There were taxis, newsstands and even a McDonald’s!  Once we caught sight of those Golden Arches, we made a beeline!  It didn’t taste quite the same as we were used to, but it was Mickey D’s nonetheless. 

 After lunch, we continued to walk around, and found some more great shops.  One of the big items for sale in most of the stores was leather jackets.  Except for the fact that most of their “leather” was actually synthetic.  About the only way to tell the difference was to hold a cigarette lighter close to it (when no one was looking, of course).  If the material melted, it wasn’t leather – move on.  We figured this out quickly, but in almost every store we went to, we saw Russian sailors getting ripped off, buying vinyl jackets!  We didn’t warn any of them (that whole language barrier thing again), and we did get a good laugh out of it.  I wasn’t in a real shopping mood, and I didn’t buy anything except for a Journey CD in a record store we came across.  My favorite store was the music store we found – I got to go in and play around on a sax for a while.  It was nice to get to do something familiar once again.

 As the sun began to set on our first day in Singapore, the old sailor way of thinking began to take hold, and we started to look for a place to get a drink…or six.  Most of our group had purchases they wanted to take back to the ship and put away before they started partying, so it ended up being just Jon Grace and I out together.  We jumped in a cab and asked the cabbie to take us to an English-Speaking Bar.  The cabbie took us to a shopping center and pointed up towards the roof – the bar was up there, he said.  We paid the man, then walked up a set of stairs where we found a dark, cramped little bar that claimed to be the “Home Of The Singapore Sling”.  It was a claim made by every bar in Singapore but we weren’t ones to argue – we just wanted one!  My biggest memory of this bar was the fact that it was red.  The seats, the walls, the lights AND the drinks – all red.  It hurt your eyes if you stayed for too long.  There was a band playing, and they weren’t too bad, but there were very few women in there, so Jon and I soon grew bored with it.  Besides that, we were already feeling very little pain, and a little afraid of getting too drunk and dumb in Singapore.  We left that bar, and walked down to the street, where we flagged down another cabbie and had him take us to another club.

 He took us to a nicer place than the first one, but unfortunately, we discovered something we weren’t expecting there – a dress code!  Jon and I were both wearing shorts, and they wouldn’t let us in.  It was weird to be denied entry to a bar not because of your age, but because of your legs!  Oh well, we decided to just head back to the ship and go out the next night to finish our mission.  But a funny thing happened on our way to the Fresno…we found a 7-11!  Remembering our Hong Kong experience, Jon and I sauntered on in and found a cooler full of beers!  We chose the biggest ones we could find, and then sat down at a table on the sidewalk in front of the store to drink them.  Looking back on it now, it was probably a pretty illegal thing to do in Singapore – drink in public – but we didn’t worry about it at the time.  We downed our beers.  I kept my big can for a souvenir – it was a Kirin can, and it had an awesome dragon head tap on the top of it.  When we were through, we headed back toward the pier.  By the time we got there, we decided we just weren’t drunk enough, so we headed back out in the OTHER direction to find another bar…or two.  We walked quite a way, and finally found some sort of a dance club.  We walked in (no dress code) and ordered up a couple of drinks.  We looked around and realized that we were the ONLY guys in there.  There were lots of girls who looked like they worked there, and the music was blasting, but we were the only customers in the place.  Nobody said anything to us, and nobody said much of anything to anyone.  It was bizarre…definitely a “Twilight Zone” feel.  We quickly downed our drinks, then beat feet back to the pier.  By this time, we were feeling pretty drunk, so we just got on the boat and headed back to the ship.  It had been an interesting, busy day, and I was looking forward to my next day of exploring Singapore.

 

Wednesday, 16MAY90 - Singapore

ñ  Mail call – Backpacker & 1 from Janet

ñ  Went on tour to Jurong Bird Park & Waterpark – got sunburned

ñ  Went to Hard Rock with Cagle – got chewed

 I woke up with reveille on this morning – not because I wasn't hungover, but because it was tour day, and I didn't want to miss anything.  While we were out at sea between Hong Kong and Singapore, the ship had put out sign-up sheets for different tours we could take while we were in port.  There were tours of Singapore's financial centers, tours to Singapore's outlying areas, a tour to a bird park and water park, and the one I signed up for - “Discovering Singapore's History”.  The tour I had signed up for was supposed to go around Singapore and show us a lot of the historical areas in town and give us some of the colorful background of the place.  I was, and am, a big history buff, so I was really looking forward to learning something more than where the cheapest beer was in one of our ports of call.  I fought off the typical in port, early-morning hangover pain, got showered and dressed, and made my way to the waiting liberty boats with the crowd.

 When we reached shore, there were four or five different buses waiting to take us on our respective tours.  None of the buses were terribly well-marked as to which tour they were, and there was no one there to point out which bus was which tour.  I just kind of followed the crowd and got on the bus that I assumed was the “Discovering Singapore” tour.  We got situated on the bus, and it pulled out, and we were on our way.  About ten minutes out, I began to realize that a lot of the guys on the bus had brought what looked like towels and swimsuits with them.  I began to wonder, so I asked John Hickersham, who was sitting next to me, if this was, indeed, the Discovering Singapore bus. 

 “What?” 

 “Is this the historical tour of Singapore?” 

 “Hell no – we’re going to some stupid bird park, and then we’re going to a water park.  Who’d want to go on a historical tour anyway?” 

 I was crushed – I had gotten on the wrong bus!  Oh well – I just shrugged my shoulders and sat back and waited for the bird park.  I hated birds.

 We arrived at the Jurong Bird Park about an hour later.  The trip across Singapore was as interesting as anything else – I always liked to just sit and watch the city go by, it was my way of orienting myself to a new place.  Singapore was a very modern, very busy city.  It was hard to tell it from any American city, really.  It looked like a place you could see yourself living if you had to.  I’d have been much more comfortable there than in, say, the Philippines.  My observation of the city came to a halt as we pulled into the bird park.  We all unloaded from the bus, and filed in.  The Jurong Bird Park was really cool – if you were into birds.  I could have cared less.   It was a pretty big area, completely fenced in – with a chain link roof across the entire park so that the birds could fly wherever they wanted within its confines.  We spent a couple of hours walking around, and taking the tram tour, and watching a show with hawks and eagles.  Again – fascinating if you’re into birds, boring as Hell if you’re not. 

 Finally, around lunch time, they announced that the bus was ready to leave.  We all eagerly jumped back onto the bus, ready to get to the much-hyped water park.  Supposedly, we were now headed to the biggest water park in Singapore.  They promised a big slide and a wave pool and all the fun we could handle.  “They” should have had their heads examined.  It took us about an hour to get to the park, and they helped make the tour a little more tolerable by passing out boxed lunches on the bus.  We ate and watched more of the city go by.  Finally, we made it to our destination.  The first thing I noticed as we pulled in was the complete lack of cars in the parking lot.  I pretty much just attributed it to the fact that they had probably booked the entire park for this tour, so it was closed to the public.  Wrong.  Once inside the gate of the water park, we realized why the parking lot was empty…the park sucked.

Singapore's "biggest water park" - 16MAY90

 This so-called “water park” was an old, dilapidated, algae-infested accident waiting to happen.  They had shuttled us to the most out-of-the way place they could think of, and then told us we’d be here for three hours.  Jerks.  The big slide wasn’t even a real water slide!  It was a big fiberglass death trap, about three stories high, with old wooden steps full of splinters and loose nails that you had to climb to get to the top.  Once on top, there were five or six lanes you could go down, with a small stream of water down each one.  The fiberglass that made up the body of the slide was old and weather-faded, and if you didn’t stay exactly in your track, you got fiberglass splinters up the back of your legs.  I wasn’t careful enough and spent a lot of time picking small pieces of fiberglass out of my skin, and small slivers of wood out of my feet.  About two trips down the slide were enough, so several of us headed over to the main sitting area, and found an unoccupied table to sit at (like that was hard), where we discovered the only saving grace of the water park – they sold beer at their snack bar!  We were quick to find this out, and we all ordered up a can or two of Anchor Beer to help quell the pain of fiberglass splinters in our butts.

 As we sat and drank our beers, we watched their wave pool.  “Ripple pool” would have been a more fitting description.  Not once did I see a swell higher than six inches in their pool.  They had body boards and surfboards lined up for people to use in the pool, but I’ll be damned if I could figure out how you could possibly get up on one of them!  On top of all of it, the sun had gone behind the clouds, and it had turned in to an abnormally cool day.  I had still managed to get sunburned, though.  So we just sat there, bundled up, burned, angry and bored and drowned our misery in Anchor beer.  Mercifully, we ran out of time before we ran out of beer money, and they loaded us back onto the bus for the trip back to the pier.  The half-hour trip back in a bus full of half-drunk sailors was a helluva lot more fun that the trip out and was definitely the most fun we had all day!  The bus driver was glad to get rid of us by the time we made it back to the pier, and we were glad to be off the bus.  We all went straight for the boat, and made a run back to the Fresno, where we changed and got ready to go back out for a night on the town.

 When we were changed and ready, it was back onto the boats, and back to the pier in Singapore.  This time, I was hanging out with BM3 Paul Cagel, and BM2 Danny O’Donnel, along with Hick, Ford, Haulin, Powell, Arrington, and a few others.  When we got to shore, we decided as a group, to go walking through the mall there to see if we could find a place to eat.  As we walked through the collection of shops, we saw a girl in a red dress walking in front of us.  She had an amazing figure, and we were all eyes as we watched her swishing her way through the crowd.  More than one comment was made about her figure, and several guys had said that they’d like to “hook up with that”.  However, when she turned around, our jaws dropped, as that beautiful woman turned into a beautiful man!  She had about a three-day stubble beard, and an Adam’s apple as big as your fist!  It was shocking – our first Betty Boy!  We all turned immediately around and walked the other way.  We gave each other a hard time about the things we’d said about how hot she/he was, and got a good laugh – but in reality, it was a pretty spooky experience!  We left the mall and made our way down a side street where we found an honest-to-goodness Pizza Hut!  We walked in and ordered up – it was always good to get a taste of home.

 After eating a little something, the big group ended up breaking off into smaller groups, as everyone kind of wanted to go their own way.  I ended up heading off with Paul Cagel and looking for something we’d never seen before.  It didn’t take long, as we soon came across the Singapore Hard Rock Café!  We couldn’t believe it – Hell, neither of us even knew that Singapore HAD a Hard Rock – but there it was.  It was a REAL Hard Rock, too – not some Filipino imposter!  We walked in and took our seats at the bar, and let the good times begin.  Paul and I spent quite a while there, amongst beers, Singapore Slings, test tube shots and various other forms of liver-damaging liquid that I couldn’t remember or pronounce.  Finally, we asked them to tally up our tab, then damn near died at the total.  We dug deep and paid the $150.00 ticket, then headed out into the humid tropical night.  We were both chewed, but didn’t really feel like going home quite yet, so we went looking for another bar.  Unfortunately, they were in short supply – as was our money – so we did the next best thing…we found a 7-11.  We went in and found the beer cooler, but as we went to pay for our refreshments, we discovered something even cooler – 7-11s in Singapore sold hard liquor!  We immediately ditched the beer and bought two pints of vodka.

 Paul and I quickly downed the small bottles of vodka, and then looked for another 7-11 to help quench our undying thirst.  It was in this second 7-11 that we ran into Jerry Ford, Hick, Sorby and a couple of other Fresno guys.  They, too, had discovered the hard liquor element of 7-11 in Singapore, and were doing the same thing we were!  Well, to make a long story short, we continued the pattern of buy a pint, drink it, walk to the next 7-11, buy another, drink it, through four or five more 7-11’s on the way back to the pier.  When we finally did make it back, we tried to buy a beer from the bar at the pier, and they were nice enough to oblige us.  Finally, we were sated.  We stumbled to get back on the boats and go home.  Some of the guys wanted to stay at the bar, but I was too far gone to stick around.  About the last thing I remember was somebody telling somebody else to “Take Pete’s drunk ass back to the ship”.  That’s it – no more recollection of the evening.  I hope I had fun, because the next morning SUCKED!!

 

Thursday, 17MAY90 – Singapore (Duty)

ñ  Hungover

ñ  1200-1600 POOW

ñ  Called Dad

ñ  Mail call – nothing

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Read “Born On The Fourth Of July”

 My first memory of the morning came at around 07:30. The memory came in the form of a dull, stabbing pain in my left side.  I tried to ignore it, but the pain continued.  I finally opened my eyes to see where it was coming from and caught myself quite by surprise to find that I was laying, face down, on the floor of our berthing area.  I put that surprise aside for a moment, as I continued to search for the cause of my pain.  My search ended as soon as I looked to my left.  My eyes caught sight of a large, black boot standing near my head.  As I cast my glance upward, I noticed that the black boot was attached to a pair of khaki pants which, in turn, were connected to a very large, very angry black man.  That man just happened to be LT Smits – the Deck Department Division Officer. 

 “Hey Pete – what the Hell time is it?”

  I looked at my watch (being careful not to move my head too quickly)  “It’s 7:30, sir.” 

 “And what time is quarters?” 

 “7:00 – I’ve still got a half hour…” 

 “GET YOUR ASS UP!” 

 As the fog quickly lifted from my head, I realized my exact situation – I was laying face down on the floor of our berthing area, in a giant pool of my own vomit.  To make matters worse, I was completely naked – not a stitch of clothing to be seen, AND I was a half hour late for quarters.

 “Get your sloppy, drunken, naked ass up, get cleaned up and clean this berthing area – THEN come see me in the wardroom.  YOU HEAR ME?!?!?!” 

 “Y-y-yes S-s-sir” I stammered, as I tried to shake the webs from my head. 

 I sat up and looked at myself – I was naked, and I was covered in my own puke.  Gross.  The worst thing of all was that the other 35 men who lived in our berthing area had all been in and out of the space and had seen me.  Since I was the only one down there, I had to assume that I’d been the big, naked, gross joke of the day.  I slowly grabbed my shower gear and headed up to the head to try to clean myself up a little bit.  As the water slowly caressed this Mother Of All Hangovers that had my head swelled up to watermelon-like proportions, I tried as best I could to recall what exactly had happened to me the night before.  More precisely, I tried to remember what the Hell happened to my clothes!  I couldn’t remember a thing – it was all blank.  I could remember everything until the point where I got on the boat back to the ship, and then it was gone.  To this day, I have no idea where any of my clothes went, and I never did find a stitch of them anywhere.  I don’t know if I lost them before or after I got to the ship, but they were sure gone when I woke up.  Evidently, somebody got some pictures of my naked drunken ass, and they were proudly offered up for display to my father and brother during the Tiger Cruise a couple of months later. 

 I finally got myself cleaned up, and my head a little clearer, and then headed down to take care of the berthing area.  I cleaned, mopped, swept, stripped and waxed the floor, and deodorized everything I could find.  After all of that, I hung my head, and took the long, long walk up to the wardroom to take my medicine from LT Smits.  I knocked on the door of the wardroom, and a voice inside commanded,

 “Get in here”. 

 I walked into the room, and I was taken by surprise.  I was expecting to see LT Smits alone, but when I walked in, there sat our C.O., our X.O., the Marine Company C.O. and X.O., and LT Smits.  There were also a couple of enlisted Marines, and Paul Cagel.

 “You’re Late!” they barked. 

 I mumbled an apology and took my place in line with the other enlisted guys.  Our C.O., CDR Worrell, began. 

 “Alright you idiots – I don’t know which one of you did it, but somebody STOLE the Singaporian flag from the liberty boat last night.  The guy who owns the boat said it was there before he picked you guys up, and after you left, it was gone.  NOW – who was it?” 

 He went on to tell us that we were on the verge of an international incident if the flag wasn’t returned.  Given the history of the strict laws of Singapore, none of us doubted that fact.  Unfortunately, none of us seemed to know what had happened to the flag.  The C.O. dismissed us and told us that the flag damned well better appear before lunch, or there would be Hell to pay.  Paul and I walked down to Deck Department berthing and tried to figure out where the flag was.

 “I don’t remember anything, Paul” I told him. 

 In my mind, I was frantically trying to remember anything.  I didn’t THINK I’d taken it, but then again, I didn’t think I’d be losing my clothes either, so all bets were off. 

 “Did you see me take it?” I asked Paul. 

 “No, I don’t think you did.  You and I were on the front of the boat, and you were busy puking over the side.  I think those Marines were in the back of the boat – it was probably them”. 

 His statement put my mind at ease – how could I have stolen a flag when I was busy puking?  I was trying to put together my defense argument at my court martial, when LT Smits came down and told us that the flag had been found in troop berthing where the Marines slept.  Evidently, the Marines didn’t remember stealing it, but somehow it ended up in their berthing area.  The flag was returned and the international incident was brought to a halt before it began.  It was a real relief, but still scary when I thought about how close I had come to being in real, serious trouble.

 After a morning like that, the rest of my duty day went very easily.  I stood a watch, took temps and read a book.  I got a letter from Janet during mail call, so I sat down and wrote her one back.  That afternoon, a rumor began to go around that they had a satellite phone up on the bridge, and they were letting guys make calls home.  I ran up the stairs to the bridge and found that the rumors were true.  I managed to talk them into letting me make a call, and I called my Dad.  I have no idea what time it was in Wyoming, but it didn’t matter – I hadn’t talked to anyone in my family in over four months!  Dad was as glad to hear from me as I was to hear from him.  He told me that he and my brother Matt, were going to come to Hawaii and sail home with me on the Tiger Cruise.  Once we got back to the States, we were going to drive up to Sacramento and visit my aunt and uncle, and then head back to Wyoming.  It sounded great, and I was excited about the trip to come!  I told him I loved him and hung up – glad that I’d been able to talk to him, but now homesick as Hell!  I went down to the armory and wrote a few more letters home to help out.  About midnight, there was a knock on the armory door – it surprised me, and when I opened the door, I was surprised even more.

 Outside the door were a whole bunch of guys who had just come back from liberty, and judging from the smell, they were feeling no pain.  They tried to get me to come with them and get a little “Wog’s revenge”.  I had forgotten that tomorrow was the day – the day we would sail across the equator and undergo our Shellback initiation!  According to tradition, the night before you crossed the equator, the Wogs claimed “Wogs Revenge” and had the right to go beat on any Shellbacks they could find out and about.  You weren’t allowed to go looking for them in their berthing areas, but if they were above decks, or in the p-way, they were fair game.  The bloodthirsty group at the armory door were all Wogs – looking to get in on the action.  I thought about joining them for a minute, then my sense of self-protection kicked in.  I realized that if I partook of “Wog’s Revenge”, it would only make my beatings the next day that much harder.  I thanked them for thinking of me, then begged off and shut the door.  I taped a piece of cardboard over the window in the door, secured the lock, then grabbed my blanket and fell asleep in the armory, feeling safe until reveille the next morning.

"I'm Gunby, dammit" - Third Division mascot - WestPac 90

CHAPTER FOURTY-FOUR:  CROSSING THE LINE

In the preceding couple of chapters, I have talked about my anticipation for “crossing the line” and the “Shellback Initiation”.  Let me backtrack for a brief moment to give a bit more of the background on this ancient custom of sailors the world over.  For hundreds of years before my time - basically since the advent of navigable sailing, crossing the equator has been an event marked with celebration and ceremony amongst sailors.  This ceremony has included some sort of peace offering to King Neptune, the ruler of the raging main.  However the modern interpretation of the ceremony came to be, it has ended up as a wild, raucous event involving beatings, humiliations and near-torture to those who are crossing the line for the first time. 

 A normal ship’s crew is divided into two camps:  those who have, at some point in their naval careers, already crossed the equator, and those who had yet to make the journey.  Once someone has crossed, and survived the initiation, they are deemed “Trusty Shellbacks” and admitted into King Neptune’s realm.  Those of us who had yet to prove ourselves were called “Pollywogs” or more commonly, “Slimy Wogs”.  The thing about the initiation ceremony was that it made no distinction in rank.  Officer or Enlisted – if you had never crossed the line, you went through like everyone else.  Anyone who was a Shellback had the right to initiate anyone who was a Slimy Wog, and enlisted took great pleasure in getting their licks in against the uninitiated officers, knowing they were free from reprisal.

 The ceremony itself was a long, drawn out affair.  It would start soon after the ship officially crossed 0 degrees latitude and didn’t end until the very last uninitiated man in the ship’s company was dubbed “Shellback” by King Neptune.  The Fresno’s ceremony was very typical – it started by having all of the Wogs prepare in their berthing areas, as the Shellbacks went up onto the main deck to make their preparations.  Once things on the deck were ready, the Wogs were led, one group at a time, up onto the deck.  When they got to the main deck, the Wogs got onto their hands and knees, and were forced to crawl through a gauntlet of Shellbacks brandishing shillelaghs, which they were swinging at the backs of the crawling Wogs.  As the beatings continue, the Wogs are led through an obstacle course of humiliation with tasks ranging from crawling through garbage to bobbing for hot dogs in a toilet full of puke, to plucking a cherry from the greased-up belly of the ship’s fattest man.  If a Wog made it through every station, he was finally led to King Neptune, usually played by the oldest Shellback on the ship, where he would be touched with Neptune’s trident and pronounced a Shellback.  After being welcomed into the family, the newly-initiated would clean up, then retreat to their berthing areas to rest and recuperate from their beatings.  It was tradition – and a proud one at that.  I remember as a kid, seeing a certificate hanging on my Grandfather’s wall, and thinking it was his discharge certificate.  When I finally asked him what it was, he told me it was his Shellback certificate.  I thought it was kind of funny to hang onto something like that for your whole life, but when I finally got my own Shellback Certificate, it went up onto the wall of my living room, and has been there ever since.  It is a great source of pride, and anyone who knows what it took to earn it knows what that pride is.  The funny thing is that my Granddad and I are Shellbacks, but my Dad never got his.  He is still a slimy wog – something I can give him unmerciful shit about for life!  It’s always nice to have one up on the old man!

 

Friday, 18MAY90

ñ  Left Singapore

ñ  WOG DAY – I AM NOW A SHELLBACK

ñ  Holiday Routine after Shellback Initiation

ñ  Crossed the Equator

ñ  Set clocks back 1 hr

 The Fresno’s Shellback Initiation came on Friday, May 18^th, 1990.  We had pulled out of port in Singapore that morning, headed to Thailand.  The equator was actually out of our way, but because of the importance of the ceremony, and the great displeasure expressed by the crew when they told us we wouldn't be crossing the line, the decision was reversed, and across the line we went.  The equator wasn’t too far from Singapore, and almost as soon as we secured from our Sea and Anchor details, all of us Wogs were sent to our berthing areas to prepare for the beatings to come.  We were told to get dressed, with our clothes on inside out – underwear on the outside.  We were advised to wear leather gloves and kneepads, since we would be crawling around on the non-stick metal deck, which would slice through your skin in no time.  Most of us had made headbands that proclaimed our Wog Pride – a last ditch attempt at machismo before we were beaten senseless.  I believe that my headband said something to the effect of “Beat Me, Whip Me, Make Me Feel Cheap” and “Wogs Rule!”. 

Slimy Wog Peterson ready to go topside for his Shellback initiation - 18MAY90

 I dutifully donned my clothes inside out (and backwards, just to be safe), then found a pair of leather work gloves, which I duct-taped to my wrists.  I then dug out my old boot camp shower shoes, which I duct-taped to my knees, tied on my headband, and sat and waited with the First Division and other Third Division guys for our call to go.  That twenty minutes of waiting was the quietest I have ever heard the berthing area.  There were some SERIOUSLY nervous guys in there – and I was one of them.  All we had heard, since boot camp, was how bad the ceremony was, and how much it was going to hurt.  None of us had any idea what to expect, and we were all waiting for the worst. 

All of the Fresno's Slimy Wogs - officer or enlisted - prepare for the beatings to come - 18MAY90

 Not everyone who was eligible went through the ceremony, however.  There was always one space on the ship which was declared a “safe zone”, where an uninitiated sailor could go to wait out the ceremony without going through it.  On the Fresno, it was the Crew’s Lounge.  Most of us wouldn’t have thought about going down there, but there were actually several members of the crew that took the opportunity to wuss out and hide.  The funny thing was that the majority of the guys who went and hid were the street tough black kids who talked about how tough they were, and how no one would ever beat them with a fire hose.  I found it kind of interesting that when it came down to the cuttin’, they decided not to face the fire, and went and hid instead of facing up to it like a man.  Takes all kinds, I guess.

 Finally, after about twenty minutes of nervous waiting, a Shellback appeared at the top of the ladder to our berthing area and screamed for all Slimy Wogs to follow him.  We filed out of the berthing area, and down the p-way, to the door that lead out to the main deck.  Once the hatch was opened, we were told to drop to our hands and knees, then led out into the wind tunnel.  The sight before us was absolute chaos.  

Topside mayhem during the Shellback initiation - 18MAY90

The wind tunnel was full of Wogs in their inside-out dungarees, while out on the flight deck, we could see Wogs being laid over a big boat bumper and beaten with shillelaghs.  There were guys on their hands and knees blowing bubbles in the rancid, rusty water that filled the cloverleafs we used to tie down vehicles to the deck.  Wogs were being led around by Shellbacks, holding the Shellback’s shillelagh in their teeth.  I saw Shellbacks grinding raw eggs into the hair of Wogs and smashing garbage into their faces.  When I raised my head to take another look – WHACK! – I felt the burn of my first shillelagh strike. 

“What the Hell you lookin’ at wog?  Get your head down!” 

 It was the unmistakable voice of BM3 Darryl Cravens – a.k.a. “Captain Caveman”.  Cravens was a Boatswain’s Mate to the core and had been looking forward to this day since he, himself, had been named “Shellback” by King Neptune during the last WestPac.  Cravens was standing by the door, happily introducing the wogs to the pain and suffering of his shillelagh.  And make no mistake about it – it hurt like a bitch!

Feel my shillelagh, Slimy Wog!

GMG3 Peterson crawls through the gauntlet

Blowing bubbles in the cloverleaf

Shellback Crigger gets his whacks in

 As we slowly crawled across the deck and took our licks, I began to notice that some of the guys beside me, were being led back to the start of the line.  Evidently, any Shellback who wanted to, could make any Wog go back and do the whole thing over whenever they wanted.  I prayed that no one would make me go back to the start again, but to no avail.  GMG1 Williansen, my boss, decided that I should go back to the start of the line, so back I crawled.  Thankfully, this was the one and only restart for me, but I think Jon Grace must have been restarted a dozen times!  Any of the wogs who had tried to say how tough they were (like Jon) were immediately made an example of.  It didn’t take long to find who the favored targets were.  Luckily, I hadn’t pissed too many guys off, so I was allowed to just follow the crowd of crawling slime and go through the obstacles one-by-one.  We all crawled over the boat bumper, where we were beaten as we lay across it, then we made our way to a long tarp covered in rancid garbage.  We were made to lay flat on our stomachs and crawl through the slop, then led to an unused toilet, where we had to bob in and bring out a hot dog with our teeth.  The water was really gross, and a few people in front of us in the line had puked in it, making it even grosser.  After the hotdog was retrieved, we were led to a large metal storage box, which was full of water and fluorescent green dye marker.  We had to get into the box, submerge, and come out the other side.  All of us were immediately dyed a fluorescent yellow-green – hair, skin, clothes, everything.  The dye marker trap was the halfway point of our journey.

Up and over the bumper you go!

 The whole time we were going through the stations, Shellbacks were beating us with their shillelaghs.  My dungaree pants, which were on inside out and backwards, had pulled down to reveal about six inches of bare skin from my lower back to the middle of my butt.  The Shellbacks found this an easy target, and I was beaten so hard and so often, that the skin was broken, and I had several nasty cuts and welts by the time it was over.  The Shellbacks also took advantage of my monstrous “plumber’s butt” to crush a couple of raw eggs into my butt crack and pound them in with their flailing shillelaghs.  Now THAT hurt!  The rotten garbage and open, bleeding sores I could handle, but eggshell in the butt crack was just plumb damn uncomfortable!

 After we emerged from the dye trap, we were led to the ship’s doc, who grabbed us by the chin, and pried our mouths open.  He then took a large syringe full of hot sauce, tabasco, cayenne pepper and anything else hot, and made us take a mouthful.  We had to hold it until he told us we could spit it out into his bedpan full of the junk, and then we moved on.  

Doc is ready with the hot sauce

Hold it in!  Did I tell you to spit it out, Slimy Wog?!?!

Our mouths on fire, matched only by our backsides, we were taken to the “Cherry Station”, where sat a big fat guy with grease all over his belly, and a cherry in his bellybutton.  We had to grab the cherry with our teeth while he jammed our faces into the grease.  Once we had the cherry, (and he let our heads go) we spit it out, then headed for another boat bumper.  

Greasy fat man's belly and a cherry - get in there, Wog!

Up and over we went, while the shillelaghs flew!  If we made it that far, we were finally led to his Royal Highness, King Neptune.  There – bent, sore, tired and bleeding – but not broken, we were asked if we wanted entry into His Mysterious Realm.  If we answered “yes”, which we all did, King Neptune took his trident, touched us on the shoulder and pronounced us officially Shellbacks!  It was one of the proudest moments of my military career – I was now a Shellback!  As I rose and looked out over the Slimy Wogs still going through the ceremony, I felt a wave of pride and accomplishment in knowing what I’d just survived.  I could still see several of the guys I’d started with going through the line and getting drug back to the start by Shellbacks.  Not me though – I was one of them now!

GMG3 Peterson - SHELLBACK!!

 As soon as I was done, I made my way over to the fire hose they had rigged up to wash us off.  It was pumping straight seawater, but it served it’s purpose – to get the rotten garbage and eggshell out of our hair.  As for our clothes, they were completely ruined!  Rather than trying to save them, most of us just took them off, bid them a fond farewell, and threw them overboard!  Then, in our underwear, we threaded our way through the still-crawling minions, and went down to our berthing area where we took showers and laid in our racks to let the pain subside a bit. 

 After the ceremony was over, we were all summoned back up to the main deck, where we helped clean up the goop and slime left behind, and then we set up a Steel Beach Picnic.  They gave us Holiday Routine for the rest of the day – a much-needed, and very earned, day off.  As we sat around eating burgers and drinking a soda or two, the stories of the day’s activities began to circulate.  We talked about how some guys had completely broken down and started crying and begging for mercy during the initiation, and about the guys who had hidden out in the crew’s lounge and not gone through it at all.  It was kind of interesting that none of the guys who had hidden out were up enjoying the picnic with the rest of the newly-crowned Shellbacks! 

 One of the more interesting stories to make the rounds about the ceremony involved one of our new Ensigns.  This particular Ensign was a booter officer– he was fresh from OCS (officer candidate school), and acted as though he were an Admiral.  He had yet to learn the rule in the Amphib Navy – you don’t get respect until you earn respect.  No one really took him seriously, and the men in his division HATED him.  They had long been looking forward to Crossing the Line and getting a little payback.  Since uninitiated officers went through the ceremony at the same time as the uninitiated enlisted men, there were no limits as to who could do what to any of the Wogs.  When Ensign Slimy Wog came out onto the deck to go through the gauntlet, it was open season.  The story that made the rounds was that he was being beaten so badly, the Captain finally had to step in and tell them that the Ensign had taken enough.  I don’t know how true the story was, but I do know that after that day, the Ensign was a changed man.  He became much more humble, and his attitude changed a great deal.  Funny what a beating with a fire hose can do to a man’s attitude.  Our First Lieutenant, Lt. McIerney, also went through the initiation, but I don’t recall any stories about him – he was well respected beforehand, so he was whisked through without incident. 

About the only true casualty of the day was my boondockers.  I hadn’t given much thought to them when making my preparations for the ceremony, and as a result, I pretty much destroyed them.  Crawling across the non-skid was not only hazardous to one’s skin, but was evidently also hazardous to the leather covering the steel toes of one’s boondockers!  I had completely worn out the toe of my right boot – there was nothing but bare steel between the sole and the laces!  I figured I’d just buy a new pair when we got to port, and chalk one up to ol’ King Neptune.  It was my “Shellback Scar”, and I wore that torn-up boot with pride!

 Laying in my rack that night and looking back on the day, I felt a great sense of accomplishment and pride.  I had survived the worst initiation ceremony in the Navy (excluding the S.E.A.L.S and their “blood pin” ceremonies) and was now a member of a very select lifelong fraternity – a Shellback.  I now had one up on my Dad for life and was on par with my Granddad.  Looking back on it, I think that becoming a Shellback was a very powerful influence on the rest of my life.  It proved to me that I could survive anything, as long as I stayed mentally tough.  Pain ends eventually, but pride can last forever.  To this day, I still carry my Shellback card in my wallet.  I didn’t get my wall certificate until about four years later, and then only after a stroke of incredible luck (that story to come later).  It is still proudly displayed in my home and will remain there.  I am, and forever will be, a Shellback – Lord and Master of all Slimy Wogs!

 

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE:  SINGAPORE TO THAILAND

Once the festivities of crossing the equator were over, it was back to business as usual.  We were facing two weeks of intense training and exercises with the Thai Navy.  It was only about a two- day sail to the coast of Thailand, and from there, we spent the ensuing two weeks doing every imaginable amphibious training exercise we could do.  It ended up being a very busy time, but one that helped bring us together as a crew and teach us that we were ready and prepared to do whatever the Navy needed us to do.  After two weeks of putting both the Fresno and her crew through their paces, we were ready to face anything that might be thrown our way.

 

Saturday, 19MAY90

ñ  Uploaded SRBOC's

ñ  Did Pre-Fire checks

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 5 landings

ñ  Almost ran into a small boat

ñ  Taped George Jones & Tanya Tucker CD's

ñ  Rained all night

 

Sunday, 20MAY90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Gun Shoot – Mt. 31 Finally Worked!

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Rained all day

ñ  Off the coast of Thailand now

 During this training period, we marked several milestones.  For one, BOTH of our gun mounts finally worked during a gunnery exercise!  I think we were as surprised as anyone, but there they were – TWO working gun mounts!  We were a long way from having our liberty secured in Okinawa, but only at the cost of countless hours of frustration and hard work.  During the training we were also tailed by another Soviet ship for a time.  They just kind of sailed along and kept an eye on us, far enough away to be out of our hair, but close enough to be a pain in our ass.  We put on a show for them, that’s for sure, as we kept busy on and off-loading our AAV’s, landing helos and doing exercises with the Thai Navy’s LST’s.  At one point, one of the Thai LST’s grounded itself, and we had to help get it off the beach, then escort it home.  Reveille went down as early as 03:00 on some days, as we practiced 24/7.  It was a very hectic training schedule.

 

Monday, 21MAY90

ñ  0300 Reveille

ñ  Anchored

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 6 Helos

ñ  Over 60 landings for this month

ñ  Mail call – nothing

ñ  Watched “The Sand Pebbles”

ñ  Water secured off and on all day

 

Tuesday, 22MAY90

ñ  0430 Reveille – got underway

ñ  1A for AAV's – offloaded & onloaded again

ñ  Flight qtrs – VERTREPPED with a 53E

ñ  Did Q-4 on fire main

 

Wednesday, 23MAY90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  0330 Reveille

ñ  1A for AAV's – offloaded

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Anchored from 0900-1400

ñ  Did leapfrogs with Thai LST's

 

Thursday, 24MAY90

ñ  Did M-3 on sprinklers

ñ  Embarked & Debarked AAV's

ñ  Anchored for four hours

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing

ñ  Meeting with Senior in armory

 

Friday, 25MAY90

ñ  5-hour UNREP with USNS Hassayampa – didn't shoot

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing

ñ  Mailcall – 1 from Backpacker, 2 from Janet

ñ  Rained all afternoon

ñ  Watched “Stagecoach”

 

Saturday, 26MAY90

ñ  0300 Reveille

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Offloaded AAV's

ñ  Anchored Out

ñ  Thai LST grounded – got underway to escort it home

ñ  Brought S.E.A.L.S. on – midnight Sea & Anchor

 

Sunday, 27MAY90

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 3 landings

ñ  VERTREPPED AAV Tranny

ñ  Mail call – 1 from AT&T, 1 from Dad, 1 from Janet

ñ  Got underway for plane guard, then anchored again

Pete modeling the latest in shipboard workout gear - 1990

Monday, 28MAY90

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Started ESWS Classes

ñ  Got underway again

ñ  Scored 265 points on Grace's Q.B. Game

ñ  Made tape for Janet

 

Tuesday, 29MAY90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Mail call – box from Mom & Dad, letter from Janet

ñ  Muna got ESWS Qual'd

ñ  ESWS Classes

ñ  Class “C” fire in HT shop

ñ  Modified Condition III on mounts

ñ  Watched “Weekend At Bernie's”

 

Wednesday, 30MAY90

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing – guard mail

ñ  ESWS Classes

ñ  Onloaded AAV's

ñ  Got underway & anchored again

ñ  Watched “War Wagon”

 

Thursday, 31MAY90

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing

ñ  ESWS Classes

ñ  Scrubbed ladderbacks

ñ  CO's spotcheck

ñ  Watched “Wall Street”

ñ  Mail call – letter from Jon B.

 

MAY90:  Deployment day 110-140       Underway – 22 days     In Port – 9 days

This was our longest continual at-sea portion of deployment.  We were training pretty much non-stop.  Even on days they called Holiday Routine, we still did flight quarters and Sea and Anchor details.  One night, we actually brought a S.E.A.L. team on board during a special midnight operation.  It was the same bunch of guys John and I had hung out with in Japan – the ones who had beaten me senseless on the golf range, and then lied to save my (and their) butt.  Seeing as how they were now “old friends”, they spent most of their time hanging out with John and I in the armory.  They were nice guys, but VERY intense.  I could barely bring myself to look them in the eye, they were that intent on their mission.  You just felt like you didn’t want to disturb them and make them snap and break your neck or something!  It was best just to leave them alone, and that’s what I did.  I bid John and his “buddies” goodnight, and I went to bed.  Better safe than sorry I thought, no sense letting them finish the job they’d begun in Yokosuka!  We also did things like an UNREP with the USNS Hassayampa, and we onloaded an AAV transmission that was flown on by a huge Chinook 53E helo.  Another exciting moment, was a small fire in the HT shop.  It wasn’t much, and it was put out quickly, but when thrown in amongst all of the other goings-on, it sure seemed like a bigger deal than it really was.

 During our downtime, which wasn’t much, I liked to just sit on the side of the ship and  look out over the water.  Most times we were close enough to see land, and as we sailed back and forth past Thailand and Vietnam, I found myself studying the jungle landscape and wondering what it was like for the guys who had fought there some 20 years earlier. 

One of the more vivid memories I have of this time was one evening when the wind and the seas were perfectly calm.  I had never seen anything like it – the water was as smooth as glass and looked like a giant mirror.  The sun was setting, and the skies were the most beautiful orange and purple you’d ever seen.  With the colors from the sky reflecting off the water, it made for an absolutely breathtaking scene.  The rails were crowded with Sailors and Marines taking pictures and drinking it all in.  That is still one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen. 

Sunset off the coast of Vietnam - 30MAY90

 Another favorite pastime of this period was shooting sea snakes.  There were sea snakes all over in the water where we were.  We spent a lot of time anchored, and a lot of time steaming slowly very close to shore.  When we did, we could see tons of snakes floating in the ocean.  They were black and yellow, and floated about half-submerged, loosely coiled up like a big spring.  The first time I saw one of the snakes, I thought it was a piece of airhose from a diver.  It didn’t dawn on me what it was until it suddenly exploded in a cloud of red water and hamburger.  I had failed to notice that the Captain had broken out his M-14 and was spending his free time shooting at the snakes.  He he had finally hit one – the one I was looking at!  Having learned his lesson from the last time he invited Jon and I to shoot with him, the CO remained the lone gunman on the bridge wing, and we were left to stand and watch, with itchy trigger fingers.  I don’t think he hit very many of them, but it was a fun way to waste an evening at sea.

 

Captain Worrell shooting sea snakes - 30MAY90

Friday, 1JUN90

ñ  Payday - $297

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Signed up for tour in Pattaya

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Got underway – picked up LARC's

ñ  Loaded Marines via LCU

ñ  Anchored again

ñ  Jammed in the armory

 

Saturday, 2JUN90

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Mail call – letter from Janet, Campmor catalog, TLC Bulletin

ñ  Did S-1 and Q-4R on lockers

ñ  Watched “Rawhide” at lunch

ñ  Got underway

ñ  Will, Ford, Sorby & I made tapes in the armory

On the first of June, we had our first payday in a long time that reflected our hazardous duty pay. We had landed over 60 helicopters the previous month!  Rather than the usual $152, I brought home a whopping $297!!  Perfect timing too, as we were two days away from the Granddaddy of all liberty ports – Pattaya Beach, Thailand! 

 Thailand was the most looked-forward to port of all.  The Frez had stopped there on her last deployment, and the guys who had been there knew what to expect and were more than happy to share the stories with those of us who had never been.  Evidently, Thailand was the biggest center of drunken debauchery in the Pacific.  Most of the bars had live sex shows, and those that didn’t had snake charmers or kick boxers to watch.  The booze was cheap, and the girls were cheaper.  We were advised to take our money but leave our cameras at home – there would be too much incriminating evidence to hide later in life!  Being 19 and dumb, I was too excited to sleep the day before we anchored off the coast of Pattaya Beach.  We were scheduled to be there for five days, and I had liberty for four of them!  Thailand actually MORE than lived up to its billing, as the next five days were the wildest, craziest, most insane party of my life!  And I loved every second of it.

 

Ready for Thailand - 02JUN90

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX:  PATTAYA BEACH, THAILAND – DON’T TELL MOM!

Sunday, 3JUN90 – Pattaya Beach, Thailand

ñ  Did M-4R on SRBOC

ñ  Grace paid $100 for a phone call

ñ  Partied with SM2 Craig

ñ  Drank Kloster's from store

ñ  Pawn - Chaplin's

This was the one we had been waiting for since we found out we were going on West Pac…the day we finally made it to Thailand.  After the last couple of weeks of non-stop operations, Pattaya Beach was a pure liberty port – no work, no responsibility, just have fun and try to stay out of jail.  We sailed in to our final anchorage spot around 10:00 that morning.  We finished up the morning’s work onboard the Frez, then dropped anchor. 

 We set up shop about a half mile off the beach and dropped the stern gate to allow the Thai liberty boats to pull up and taxi the crew to and from the beach.  The bay where we anchored was full of speedboats, sailboats, fishing boats and all kinds of other small boats.  The water was the most incredible blue you had ever seen, and you could see clear down to the pure white sand underneath.  I remember Thailand mostly as a huge palette of unbelievably bright colors.  The rainbow-colored liberty boats, the white beaches, the blue water, the red flowers, the green trees – all combined to make a landscape that was shocking to the senses.  We tried hard to drink it all in as we climbed aboard the water taxi that would take us to the beach.

First liberty boat headed to the beach - Pattaya Beach, Thailand - 03JUN90

 There were no piers in Pattaya Beach.  The boats went right up onto the beach (when the tide was out), and we could jump out directly onto the sandy beach. When the tide was in, we ended up about 20 yards from shore, and had to wade to the beach in water that was as much as knee deep.  It was warm, and we were all wearing shorts, so none of us really minded too much.  The only problem that I found was the leather tennis shoes that I was wearing.  I hadn’t given much thought to it, but I was wearing leather sneakers and no socks, and after wading through the salt water to get to shore, then spending all day walking around the tropics with sweaty feet in wet leather shoes, well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how good those shoes smelled at the end of the week!  They were so bad that they almost cleared out the berthing area when I took them off.  The rest of the guys made me agree to throw them overboard!  They stunk…bad.

 When our liberty boat finally hit the beach in Pattaya, it was a mad rush to find the nearest bar.  After that much time at sea, we NEEDED a drink!  Everyone on my boat sprinted across the ten yards of beach, up onto the sidewalk, and looked for a place to get that first cold beer.  Directly across the street, we found it - The Pussycat Club.  The group of us ran in and found tables to sit at.  There were Sailors and Marines, Enlisted and Officers, all sitting at tables and waiting for beers.  As the bar girls brought us the beer, a different girl sat down next to each of us.  It was beginning to look like the stories were true - Thailand was going to be the coolest place ever!  We hadn’t even finished with our first swallow of beer, when the girls that were sitting next to each of us reached over, undid our zippers, and went “fishing”.  At this point, we were all thinking – hmmm – beer and a hand job.  It doesn’t get much better than this!.  But it did.  Because then, the lights dimmed and a voice came from the P.A. system that said,

 “Welcome to the Pussycat Club – please enjoy the show”,

 Two girls walked out on stage.  NOW it was getting interesting.  A cold beer, a hand job AND a lesbian sex show!  There was no way it could possibly get better than this!  It didn’t. 

 No sooner had our interest been piqued by the two girls on stage taking their shirts off, than we noticed their distinct lack of frontal development.  We initially just chalked it up to them being Asian, BUT, when the first girl hiked up her skirt and bent over, and the other girl hiked up her skirt to reveal a dick, we realized our mistake – this was a bar FULL of transsexuals!  Every “girl” in the bar was actually a man!  Including the girls that had their hands in our pants!  All of us came to the realization that we were in a bar full of Betty Boys at about the same time. 

 It was complete chaos as twenty straight men jumped up, pushed twenty cross-dressing men to the ground, and ran for the door.  As we ran out of the bar, still trying to tuck ourselves in and zip our pants up, we noticed that the street was lined with locals laughing their heads off!  Evidently, this happened every time a new ship came into port – thirsty, horny and completely unaware sailors and Marines would run into the Pussycat Club, only to run out about ten minutes later when they figured out they were getting a hand job from a man!  The locals would all gather around the door, just waiting for the inevitable rush of angry and confused men to come running out so they could laugh at them.  I’m not ashamed (well, not a whole lot) to admit that I was one of the guys who fell for the allure of the Pussycat Club.  Not exactly a proud moment in my life, but a moment nonetheless.

 We all stood around and kind of wondered what to do next – we knew we needed massive quantities of alcohol to erase the memory of the Pussycat Club, so we made our way for the nearest open-air bar for a stiff one (excuse the pun).  It was there that I ran into Jon Grace.  He and I decided to team up and explore a little of Pattaya.  Jon and I walked through some shopping areas, and past some bars and restaurants, and just kind of soaked in our new surroundings.  When we were beginning to feel comfortable knowing our way around Pattaya, Jon saw a sign on a shop advertising “Cheap Calls To The U.S.”.  Jon decided to call home, but I held off.  I was still not terribly comfortable with the exchange rate (which was around 25 Baht to the dollar), and I wanted to make sure I understood their charge rates before I tried to make a call.  Jon wanted no such delay, and he jumped in a booth and called home.  He talked for 15 minutes or so, and when he was done, the cashier in the little store rung up his bill – 2500 Baht!  That was a $100 phone call!  Jon was pissed – he tried to argue the bill, but while he was on the phone I had finally made heads and tales of their rate plan, and realized that the advertised “Cheap Calls” were actually incredibly expensive.  The store’s sole purpose was to rip off American military and tourists, and Jon had been caught!  He bitched and moaned and threatened the cashier but ended up just paying the $100 and leaving the store.  It was this point when he decided that he HATED Thailand, and we went back down to the beach, where he caught the next boat back to the Frez, swearing that he would just stay on the ship for the next four days, because he was NEVER setting foot in Thailand again! 

 “Whatever” I thought, “You baby.” 

 I set out to find myself a bar and get good and hammered.

 I wandered from bar to bar for the majority of the day, running into Fresno sailors here and there, and sharing a drink or two with all of them.  Pattaya was pretty easy to get around in – there were taxis and jeepneys and trikes to take you anywhere, and the main strip of bars was actually more of a cul-de-sac, with all of the popular clubs arranged in a circle around a few open air bars and kiosks selling food, booze and trinkets.  There were streets leading off the cul-de-sac, and most of them were okay, but there was one street that we avoided at all costs, because every bar on that street was a gay bar.  It was definitely NOT a place a sailor wanted to wander in alone and drunk.  There was more than one story circulating about guys wandering into the wrong bar and getting raped.  I wanted nothing to do with that, so I avoided that street above all. 

Business District - Pattaya Beach, Thailand - 03JUN90

 Pattaya Beach, and for that matter, Thailand in general, was a hot tourist destination for those looking for a wild time.  The sex trade to tourists was what kept places like Pattaya Beach running.  There were bars and clubs offering everything – from Baby-A-Go-Go, which featured 13-year old nude dancers, to bars like the Pussycat Club with transsexuals.  It was full of tourists from all over the world – not just military like we were used to.  Walking down the street, you could hear English, French, German, Tagalog and the occasional Scottish or Irish accent in addition to the ever-present Thai.  It was like the world’s largest party, and we had been invited!  As I wandered from bar to bar, I noticed a curious similarity in most of them.  They all had signs posted saying that they would not allow Arabs to sit in their bar and “accost their women”.  I’m not sure why, but the Thais definitely did NOT like the Arabs.  It was kind of weird, but hey – it’s their country, whatever they want to do, I guess.

 A lot of bars had big kick-boxing rings in the middle of them and they let you bet on the kick boxing matches.  It was actually Muy-Thai Boxing (very similar to kick boxing) and it was cool to sit and watch a couple of guys just beat the holy living crap out of each other!  The bars that didn’t have Muy-Thai, had live snake shows, where snake charmers would coax cobras into biting at them, and let pythons and the like coil around their bodies.  I am deathly terrified of snakes, so I tried to avoid these bars!  And if there was no Muy-Thai, and no snakes, then the bar featured strippers, go-go dancers or live sex shows.  You could see anything you wanted – lesbians, old ladies, gymnasts, strip tease dancers, young girls – whatever your preference, you could find it naked in Pattaya Beach!  I wandered through a few of these bars throughout the afternoon, and into the early evening, until I finally ended up at a place called Chaplin’s.

 Chaplin’s was a club very similar to the others, but with one exceptional difference…there was no show of any kind going on!  It was kind of refreshing, actually.  I sat down at the bar and ordered up a Kloster’s beer (the local brand) and sucked it down quickly.  Somebody at the other end of the bar yelled

 “Hey, Pete!”, so I turned to see who it was. 

 It was SM2 Craig – one of the guys from the Beachmaster’s Unit who was assigned to the Fresno during Pac.  I really didn’t know him too well – just a casual acquaintance I had met and talked to in passing on the ship.  It didn’t matter now, though, because he was buying!  Craig and I sat and drank for the rest of the night.  By the time midnight rolled around, we were good and drunk.  We had hooked up with a couple of girls from the bar, and we decided it was time to go find a hotel room for the evening.  The four of us stumbled out onto the street and walked a few blocks to a hotel the girls told us was “nice and cheap”.  We thought they had meant “nice AND cheap”, but true to their word, it was just “nice and CHEAP”.  I didn’t really matter, because we weren’t exactly there for the ambiance!  We got a double room, went upstairs and unlocked the door.  It wasn’t a bad room, but the walls were paper-thin.  We could hear the parties going on in rooms on either side of us.  As we sat and tried to figure out the logistics of having two publicity shy couples in the same room, our door burst open, and in came the guys from the room next door.  Neither Craig or I knew them, but they were in a party mode, and invited us to come party with them in their room.  Craig and I thought the same thought – one of the couples in our room should go party with these guys while the other couple “finished their business”, and then we would switch.  Craig wanted first up, so the girl I was with, Pawn, and I left to go party.

 About an hour later, a much-sweatier Craig and his girl came into the party next door and gave me the wink.  After seeing the signal, Pawn and I went to our now-vacant room and took care of business.  As soon as we were finished, Craig and his girl came in, and we all sat and looked at each other.  We had no idea what to do next, when I came up with a brilliant idea –

 “Let’s drink the mini-fridge dry!” 

 The hotel had provided a mini fridge stocked with beer, liquor and candy, and according to the sign on it, you were charged for each item you consumed.  I wasn’t exactly in a thinking mode when I popped open two beers and slammed them down, one after the other.  Craig and I drank all of the booze, while the girls ate the candy in the fridge, and then we all passed out and went to sleep.  It wasn’t until the next morning that the realization of the bill I had incurred by my decision hit me.  My solution was nothing less than brilliant, if I do say so myself.

  

Monday, 4JUN90 – Pattaya Beach, Thailand

ñ  Went parasailing

ñ  Mail call – letter from Janet & AT&T

ñ  Bought Janet's earrings

ñ  Bought CCCP Jersey

ñ  Partied with Grunts at Nag's Head

ñ  5 Girls – Nag's Head

 For some bizarre reason, I woke up at around 0600 feeling refreshed, vibrant and ready to go.  An absolute mystery to me, because I hadn’t gone to sleep (or passed out) until around 0300!  I had no hangover and was ready to roll.  The other three in the room just sort of looked at me and grunted, so I grabbed my wallet, and the very last beer, and set off in search of breakfast.  I thought I remembered seeing a small grocery store down the block the night before, but when I got there, it was nowhere in sight.  I turned the corner and ran smack into a Dunkin’ Donuts!  I couldn’t believe my luck – who’d have thought there would be a Dunkin’ Donuts in Pattaya Beach, Thailand!  I smiled, walked in and ordered up a dozen assorted donuts and a couple of cups of coffee and headed back to the hotel.

 When I got back to the room with my treasure, Craig’s mood lifted perceptibly.  He sat right up, grabbed a cup of coffee and a donut and smiled.  The girls just looked at each other, unsure of what to do.  I told them to help themselves, and offered them the box of donuts, but they wouldn’t take one, and just sat and watched as Craig and I ate the whole damn box.  Man, did that taste good!  After we had finished the donuts, we decided to check out.  That’s when I remembered about the mini-fridge.  The way I figured it, we had drank all of the booze in it, and the hotel was going to add almost $100 on our bill for it! 

 Neither of us had that kind of money, and we were in a quandary as to what to do.  Suddenly, it hit me…the guys next door!  They were sure to be passed out after their party – if we could sneak into their room and steal everything out of their fridge and replenish ours, we wouldn’t get charged anything!  Craig thought this was a great idea, and he agreed to stand lookout for me while I did the deed!  We snuck next door as quietly as we could – there was probably no need for it, since the guys in that room were out cold, and wouldn’t even THINK a coherent thought until at least noon.  We eased open the door, and the scene inside the room told me everything I needed to know – there were guys laying on the beds, guys on the floors, and one guy asleep with his head rested on the toilet seat – it looked like a post Kool-Aid Jonestown. 

 As Craig stood in the doorway looking for anyone who might be coming down the hall, I tiptoed over the sleeping guys and eased open their fridge, hoping it was still full.  Luck was with me, as the guys in that room had been smarter than I had and hadn’t touched anything in the fridge at all.  I grabbed an empty beer box from the floor and loaded the entire contents of their fridge into it.  I then tiptoed back the way I had come, and we gently closed their door.  No one inside the room had moved a muscle – we hustled back to our room, re-stocked the fridge with the stolen goods, and then walked nonchalantly down to the front desk to check out.  The desk manager sent his little helper up to check the room for damage, and the fridge’s contents so they could make up their final bill.  We stood there in worried silence for about five minutes, until the helper came back down and gave the manager the “OK” sign.  We signed off on our ticket and handed our keys back to him, then walked out of the hotel, and down the street.  I still wonder how the other guys dealt with the manager when they were charged for an entire fridge worth of booze they hadn’t touched!  Oh well – sometimes you’re the windshield, and sometimes you’re the bug.  It was just nice to be the windshield for a change!

 After we left the hotel, Craig and I said goodbye to the girls, and parted ways.  They walked one way, and we headed the other, toward the beach and to the liberty boat which would take us back to the ship.  As we walked, we watched all of the beachfront businesses opening for the day – the gift shops, the food vendors, the jet ski rental places and finally, the parasailing boats.  Craig and I sat and down on the beach and enjoyed the tropical morning.  We bought a beer or two as dessert for our donut breakfast, then got up to finish the walk to the liberty boats.  On the way, one of the guys from the parasailing boats caught my attention.  He offered me the first ride of morning for half off.  I had never really thought much about parasailing – I was afraid of the water, couldn’t swim, and didn’t care for heights.  The idea of being strapped to a parachute, then tied to a speedboat and pulled 100 feet over the water at speeds of 30+mph, just didn’t really appeal to me!  But the offer of half off sure sounded good – besides everyone needs a little adventure, right?  I agreed, paid the man about 600 Baht (around $25.00) and let them strap me in.  I was about to go parasailing...

GMG3 Peterson goes parasailing - 04JUN90

 They put the harness on me, and got the parachute spread out behind me, then the helper gave the boat driver the nod, and he hit the gas!  The boat tore away from the beach, and I stood and watched as the slack quickly worked itself out of the line that was tied to my harness.  I braced for the yank and was thinking that maybe I should try to run a little bit to lessen the severity of the shock.  A split second after this thought crossed my mind, the slack ran out!  The force of the yank was tremendous – it pulled me off my feet, and drug me about ten feet across the beach, and into the water.  I think I was a little heavier than they expected, because the driver didn’t have anywhere near the speed he should have to get me airborne, and I just sort of drug along behind him, bouncing from wave to wave, and off a couple of jet skis that were waiting for their first customers of the day.  Before the pain could set in, however, the boat reached the proper speed, the parachute filled, and I was yanked straight up into the air!  Suddenly, I was dangling a hundred feet over the harbor, looking down at a jigsaw puzzle of boats and watercraft, as my boat driver zigzagged through the traffic and pulled me out toward the open water. 

 I was absolutely terrified at first, but eventually I calmed down a little bit, and started to enjoy myself.  The view was amazing!  I could see the Fresno, and all of the smaller ships around her.  I could see the jungle out beyond Pattaya Beach, and I could see the beautiful blue water in the harbor.  As always happens, though, just about the time I was really getting into it, it was over.  The boat turned toward the shore, and he began to drop speed to bring me down to the ground.  I floated toward the beach, and as I got closer, I saw the helper standing on the beach trying to wave me away from the jet skis and boats parked where I was headed!  I was trying in vain to spill the chute and turn myself away from the boats, but the boat driver had me going too fast, and I couldn’t avoid them.  

Guide right!  Guide right! - 04JUN90

I pulled my feet up to my butt and skipped across the handlebars of a parked jetski.  The beach was getting closer and closer, and I noticed the helper standing right in front of me, looking like he was going to try to catch me!  I must have outweighed him by 100 pounds, easily!  I yelled for him to move, but he just stood there with his arms outstretched, waiting for me.  He didn’t have to wait long – I barreled into him, full speed, hitting him in the chest with my knees.  I drove him back about ten feet and landed on top of him with all of my weight!  We were still in the shallow water just off the beach and I had him pinned under for a second.  I jumped up as quickly as I could, reached down and grabbed the poor kid by the arm, and hauled him up and out of the water.  His eyes were as big as dinner plates, and he had the wind knocked completely out of him.  I felt kind of sorry for the kid, but if he was dumb enough to try to catch me… 

 Craig and I sat the kid on the beach, while I tried to figure out how to take the harness and parachute off.  I got it all taken apart just as the guys from the boat made it to the shore to take care of their friend.  They all looked at me and said something at me in Thai – I’m not sure what it was, but I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant!  Craig and I just kind of shrugged, smiled, and walked away.  I had parasailed, and I had survived.  I don’t know if the helper survived, but them’s the breaks, I guess.  Craig and I then walked over to the part of the beach where the Fresno’s liberty boats were waiting, climbed aboard, and rode back to the ship.  My first day of liberty in Thailand had completely lived up to the billing!  My plan for the second day was to get my new mail, take a quick shower, change, and head out for more thrilling liberty in Thailand.  If the rest of the day was as exciting as the morning had been, I was in for a thrill.  You know what – I WAS in for a thrill!!

A quick trip back to the Fresno to clean up and head out again - 04JUN90

 It was only about a five-minute jaunt from beach to ship – nothing like the hour-long voyage in Singapore.  By the time we got back, I was more tired than excited to go right back out again, so I went and got my new mail, then headed down to the berthing area and climbed in my rack to read my letters and take a quick nap.  I was happy to see a letter from Janet – she was writing me all the time, and I sure did like that.  I decided then and there that I would buy her something really special in Thailand.  Since she was now officially my girlfriend, she deserved it!  As I ran through all of the things I could buy her, sleep caught up to me, and I went out like a light.  I didn’t sleep long, because ten minutes later, the next liberty boat came back, and it was full of drunken Deck Department guys, who burst into the berthing area, hooting and hollering and getting ready to go back out again.  I resigned myself to just being a little sleepy for the day, got up and showered, then changed clothes and headed back down to the tank deck, where I stood on the lowered stern gate with the rest of the crowd, waiting for the next liberty boat to come pick us up.

 We loaded into a boat and made our way to the shore but when we got there, the tide had come in.  We had to disembark the boat about twenty feet from the shore, and wade in.  The water was knee deep – maybe a bit deeper – and we all jumped right in and slogged to the beach.  Once on dry land, we headed our separate ways.  Thailand was kind of like that – everyone went their own way and did their own thing during the daytime, and at night, everyone seemed to meet up and get the party started! 

BM3 Hickersham wades out to the liberty boat - 04JUN90

 I headed off to find something cool for Janet.  I walked through what seemed like hundreds of junk shops full of souvenirs of every imaginable type.  There were engraved water buffalo horns, hand-painted silk fans, t-shirts, snakeskin shoes, stuffed cobras – whatever you wanted, you could find it somewhere!  I just couldn’t bring myself to buy any of this cheap crap for my girl, and then I turned a corner and found myself on a street FULL of jewelry stores.  It turns out that Thailand was famous for its cheap prices on jewelry. 

 I walked into one of the stores and started looking around.  The prices were all in Baht, so it took a little thinking to convert them into US Dollars.  I had never bought anybody jewelry before, so I really didn’t know if I was getting a good deal or not.  I didn't let that stop me, though, as I found a pair of earrings I liked.  They were 14K gold, with nice sized opals and a small diamond on each.  The price tag said 10,000 Baht (about $400).  That was waaay too steep for my budget, I just looked at the salesman,

“No thanks”.  

To my surprise, he said “Okay, how ‘bout you pay fi sousand Baht?” 

 All of a sudden I realized I was bartering – the prices weren’t set like in America, they were more of a starting point to dicker with.  Some quick mental math told me that he had just dropped his price in half, down to about $200.

“No” 

I figured that since he had already come down 50%, he might be willing to come down a little more.  I suggested the seemingly ludicrous price of 1000 Baht ($ 40).  I thought for sure he’d laugh in my face, but instead he countered with 2000 Baht!  I couldn’t believe how well this was going.  I was either a hell of a trader, or I was dealing with the world’s stupidest salesman, who damn sure wasn’t being paid on commission!  Feeling bold, I looked him straight in the eye and said,

“1400 Baht – my final offer”. 

He looked at me, took a deep breath, and said “….okay.  1400”. 

 I couldn’t believe it!  The earrings that had started out at $400 were now mine for the bargain basement price of $56.00!  I loved Thailand!  They wrapped up my package, handed me my receipt, and I walked out of the store, just knowing I’d found the perfect gift for the perfect girl – and I’d gotten a helluva deal on it, too!

I wasn’t quite sure what to do next – I didn’t really want to go back to the ship, but then again, I didn’t really want to walk around with a pair of opal, diamond and gold earrings in my pocket, either.  I finally decided that I couldn’t impress Janet with something that I had lost in a bar somewhere, so I walked to the beach to catch a liberty boat back to the Frez to stash the earrings.  Considering what happened later that evening, it was probably about the smartest thing I did during our entire deployment!  On  my way to the beach area, I walked past a shop that was selling sports jerseys from around the world.  There were soccer jerseys from all over.  I saw a cool one that was a replica of a Soviet Union olympic team jersey with the "CCCP" logo on the front.  I thought it would be a cool conversation piece when I got home, so I took a look at it.  It was an 'XL' and the price tag said 1000 baht  a bit rich for my blood.  However, remembering the bartering lesson I just learned in the jewelry store up the street, I flagged down the store owner and said,

"How Much?"

"One sousand baht"

"I'll give you one hundred"

"No one hundred.  You give five hundred"

"I give one hundred or I leave"

"No one hundred.  Two hundred"

"No deal."

I turned to walk out of the shop, and got about two steps down the street when I heard a voice behind me,

"One hundred.  I give for one hundred!"

I turned back and saw the shopkeeper walking towards me with the jersey in his hand.  I gave him a 100-baht note and took the shirt, then smiled and started walking back to the beach, knowing that I was now a wheeling, dealing, world-traveling barterer.  Of course, the final joke was on me because when I finally tried the jersey on a couple of days later, I discovered that a Thai 'XL' is not exactly an American 'XL', and I looked more like a Soviet sausage than a Soviet soccer player.  Regardless, it was still a good transaction, and I was proud to use the life skills I was quickly acquiring.  The liberty boat arrived, and I waded out and jumped on.  I made a quick trip from the beach to the ship, then while the boat was waiting for a full load to go back, I ran to my berthing area, put the earrings and jersey in my locker, then ran and got right back on the same boat, and rode it to the beach.  It was a flying trip, indeed. 

I made it back to the beach, at about 3 or 4 in the afternoon, and I realized that I was hungry…really hungry.  I looked around for a place to eat, and after deciding against the various street vendors and cafes with signs I couldn’t read, I settled on the one Americanized restaurant I could find – A&W.  It was in a small little shopping center, very close to the Dunkin’ Donuts I’d found earlier that morning.  It sure didn’t taste the same (I’m still not sure it was beef), but I was too hungry to care.  I wolfed it down and then headed back out onto the street, looking for action.

 As I walked toward the main strip of bars, I was still trying to decide what I wanted to do until nighttime (and partytime) began.  My question was answered as I walked past a big, open-air bar with a ring in the middle.  It was the typical Muy-Thai boxing club, and the beer was cold and cheap.  I found a seat and a beer and sat down and watched a few bouts.  The little Thai guys that were fighting were pretty amazing – fast and furious!  The blood flew as these little guys just pounded the holy living crap out of each other.  I saw one get his leg broken, and another get his elbow bent the wrong way.  It was definitely bloodsport!  The majority of the crowd were U.S. Marines, and they were cheering long and loud for their favorites.  The club also encouraged betting, and Marines were laying down money left and right.  I had blown my wad of cash on Janet’s earrings, so I just bought more beer, and left the betting to the professionals.  About an hour into the show, the Marines were getting drunk and feeling tough.  The ring announcer got up between bouts and announced that they would be letting anyone in the audience who was tough enough, get into the ring to fight one round with one of the club fighters.  Up to now, all of the Muy-Thai boxers we had seen were little bitty guys, so the Marines all decided that one of theirs should climb into the ring to show these little men how tough one of Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children was! 

 The Marines picked their representative, and he climbed into the ring.  Then the club brought out their fighter – the biggest, meanest looking Thai I had seen yet!  While he wasn’t a giant by any stretch of the imagination, the guy still had to be at least six feet tall and weighed about 200 lbs!  A huge Thai!  The Marine suddenly didn’t look quite so confident, as his opponent warmed up with a couple of quick jabs and kicks.  The bets began to flow heavily (most against the Marine), as the bell rang.  It was an utter humiliation for the Marines!  Their guy was completely dismantled by the Thai.  I don’t know if the Marine even got one punch in.  The Muy-Thai boxer pummeled the Marine repeatedly.  To his credit, the Marine wouldn’t quit and he stayed standing for the obligatory one round.  At the end of that one round, the Thai was deemed the winner, and the Marine just sort of slid off his chair and out of the ring.  I have rarely, if ever, seen an ass-kicking of that caliber.  Marines may be the roughest, toughest fightin’ bastards the world has ever seen with an M-16 in their hands, but in a Muy-Thai ring in Thailand, this one was a helpless little girl!  The entertainment over, I swallowed the rest of my beer, and headed off to see what other trouble I could get into!

 I walked around the cul-de-sac where most of the popular clubs were, and poked my head into a couple, but the live sex shows really weren’t what I was in the mood for, so I kept walking.  Before long, I found myself four or five blocks south of the strip, in the bar of a little hotel called “The Nag’s Head”.  And, as usually happened around this time of the evening, I found myself surrounded by Fresno crew.  Jerry Ford was there along with a couple of the new Deck Department booters.  One of my Marine buddies, Curly, was there with a few of his Jarhead pals.  There were also a couple Marine officers in the mix.  The whole group got along well, and as we drank, we began to formulate a plan for the evening. 

Crew that overtook the Nag's Head bar in Pattaya - 04JUN90

 We decided that since The Nag’s Head was basically just a bar with one floor of hotel rooms above it, we should make it ours for the evening.  We then rented out all of the six or seven rooms in the hotel and proceeded to make step 2 of our plan a reality.  Step 2 was to drink the bar completely dry.  We wanted to drink every drop of booze they had before the end of the evening.  We began to order, and consume, drinks with gusto, trying our damndest to accomplish our mission.  About three hours into it, we began to question the wisdom of our decision.  We were sure we could accomplish what we’d set out to do, but if we did, we’d be unable to accomplish the unspoken 3^rd step of our plan.  The unspoken 3^rd step involved the procurement of some “dates” for the evening for the sole purpose of satisfying our carnal desires.  Had we continued on Step 2, then there was absolutely no way we could accomplish Step 3.  This realization in mind, we took a break from the bar, and decided to head out onto The Strip to procure the aforementioned dates.

 By the time we made it out of The Nag’s Head, the bar was nearly dry.  We had been sitting there drinking for five hours or so, and none of us was feeling ANY pain…Hell, not many of us were feeling ANYTHING to be perfectly honest!  Our severely inebriated posse headed out to see what we could find.  Somehow, we all managed to find a couple of girls each, who we carefully escorted back to The Nag’s Head, where we sent them up to our rooms to wait.  There was a minimum of two girls in each of the rooms upstairs, and the group of us met down in the bar to set the ground rules for the evening.  We ordered up another round of drinks and prepared ourselves for the fun to come.  After we all felt comfortably numb, we headed back upstairs.

 Once in the hallway, we huddled up like a football team calling a play.  We put a hand into the middle, shook once and yelled, 

“BREAK!!”

Then we each ran into a room.  The first room I ran into had two beds, with one girl on each bed.  I jumped into the one closest to the window and began doing what it was I was there to do.  I made sure that I was wearing a condom, and just to make sure it was safe, I put on two of them.  I was doing my thing, when SR Escombia came in and jumped into the bed next to us with the other girl.  The two of them began to do THEIR thing and Escombia and I high-fived each other in celebration.  About five minutes later, I called out

“SWITCH!”

Escombia and I traded beds and girls.  I had no more than started in with the new girl, when the door burst open, and in came two of the Marines we’d been partying with.  They told us that it was time to switch rooms, so Escombia and I jumped up and ran across the hall to the room adjacent to ours.  There, we found two MORE girls on two MORE beds.  We immediately jumped in the sack and started up again.  I was still being careful, and I took of the outermost of the two condoms I was wearing and threw it away.  I then put on a fresh rubber and started in again.  Things went on like this for another couple of minutes, with yet another switch between Escombia and I thrown in.  We were about to pull a room switch with someone else, when our door burst open again…

”SMILE!” , I heard someone say.  When I looked over at the door, I saw a Marine with a video camera looking at me.  I was a bit shocked at first, but then the booze spoke up and I looked straight at him, waved and gave a hearty

“HI MOM!!”, while continuing my business and not missing a beat!

The festivities continued in a like manner for an hour or so, with guys running from room to room, changing condoms like a stock car driver changes tear-away visors. 

Finally, we were all sated.  The copious quantities of alcohol and sexual activity had taken their toll, and everywhere you looked there were passed-out Sailors and Marines.  I remember looking at my watch and seeing it creep up on 04:00 before I laid my head down on a pillow to fall asleep.  There would be no dreams on this night, because I could not possibly dream up anything wilder and crazier than I had just lived through!!

 

Tuesday, 5JUN90 – Pattaya Beach, Thailand - (Duty)

ñ  Late coming back – brought mail

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  No watch

ñ  Mail call – nothing

ñ  Slept in armory all day

ñ  Missed dinner

The morning of June 5 dawned a little fuzzier than most.  As the hot morning sun beat through the window directly onto my face, I tried to cover my eyes.  I reached up to shield them from the brutal death-rays of the tropical sun – and I hit myself in the cheek with my watch.  Ordinarily, this would have done nothing more than make mad enough to roll over onto my OTHER side and fall back asleep.  But, for some reason, it made me look at my watch.  It was 7:30 – I was at first, amazed that I had woken up that early after the previous night’s activities, I vaguely remembered watching it hit 4:00am before I fell asleep/passed out, and I couldn’t believe I was awake a mere three hours later, but then it hit me – the reason I was awake was because I was in BIG trouble!! 

Today was my duty day, and quarters was at 7:00 – I was A.W.O.L.!  The fear of all fears shot through me, and I jumped out of bed, was dressed and running down the street toward the beach in seconds flat!  Luckily, there was a liberty boat just pulling off the beach when I got there, and I didn’t even break stride as I ran across the beach, through the water, and jumped onto the boat!  I was sweating like a pig and shaking like a leaf, just knowing that I would have my liberty secured for the rest of WestPac for being that late!  My goose was cooked!

Once on board the liberty boat, I noticed that there were only a couple of us making the trip back, a Marine who was too drunk to remember his name, let alone who I was, and my good friend, PCSN Scotty Bale.  Scotty was bringing back the mail bags from the shore and he told me that if I needed to, I could just say that I was helping him get the mail and that’s why I was late.  It was good to have friends like that!

When I finally made it to the ship and got dressed, it was almost 08:00 – not bad, less than 30 minutes from dead sleep in a hotel room on a back street of Pattaya to being on the ship and in uniform, headed up to Officer’s Country to explain myself.  Fear is an amazing motivator sometimes.  I flew up the ladderbacks to the wardroom, where I sheepishly knocked on the door and walked in.  The Officer Of The Day was waiting.  Actually, it was more like he was trying not to fall asleep in his coffee.  Evidently, the Lieutenant on Duty had enjoyed himself as much as I had the night before, and he was in NO shape to give me what I deserved.  I quickly apologized and tried to explain myself and about helping the Postal Clerk, when he cut me off –

“Peterson…if I let you go, will you –get me a 7-UP?” 

“Yes, sir!”

 “Then consider yourself off the hook – unless you’re not back up here with that 7-UP in less than five minutes.” 

I made it in two.  I couldn’t believe my good luck – who’d have thought that the duty Officer would be even more hung over than I was!  I thanked my lucky stars, handed the Lieutenant his soda, then went down to the quarterdeck to read the P.O.D. to see if I was scheduled for any watches.  My luck held, as my name wasn’t on the list of watchstanders for the day, so I was free!  Since it was a pure liberty port, there wasn’t any work to be done.  All I had to do was go take the daily temperature reports on the ammo magazines, and I’d be done.  I took the temps, turned them in and went down to the Armory, where I turned on my stereo, grabbed a blanket and pillow and fell asleep on the deck.  I woke up around 19:00 that night – just long enough to walk over to my berthing area, grab a quick shower, and go back to bed, where I slept until reveille.  I loved duty days in liberty ports! 

Mr. Taite gets some sun - 1990

Wednesday, 6JUN90 – Pattaya Beach, Thailand

ñ  Went to Banglaamen Boy's Home for cookout – cooked

ñ  Partied with Hick & Sorby (Girl in Orange)

ñ  Got chewed – drank until 0500

ñ  ? - Carousel Bar

When reveille went down, I woke up feeling like a million bucks – eighteen hours of sleep will do that for a man!  My duty section was the lucky one in Thailand – since there were three sections, we only had to stand duty once every three days.  We spent five days in Thailand, and our duty day was right in the middle – two days of liberty, one of duty and two of liberty.  It was great timing, and you sure didn’t hear any of us complain about having four days of Thai insanity to enjoy!  After quarters that morning, we turned things over to Duty Section I, and then went and got dressed for another crazy day of liberty.

This day was a little out of the norm for us – this was a day that the Fresno’s crew actually did a little good in the community for once.  We had signed up to host a cookout for an orphanage in Pattaya called the Banglaamen Boy’s Home.  We offloaded a bunch of stores from the ship, and took them to shore, where we were loaded onto a bus that took us to the orphanage to spend some time with the kids.  We set up barbecue grills, and cooked hamburgers and hot dogs for the boys and spent the better part of the morning, until about noon, eating, playing games and laughing with these underprivileged kids.  It was a blast! 

The boys taught us how to play their version of volleyball.  They used a woven plastic ball that they knocked back and forth over a net the height of a badminton net, using only their feet!  It was amazing.  Those kids were awesome!  After we had played for a while, and the charcoal was good and hot, we started cooking the food.  The boys ate like they hadn’t seen food in years!  It was amazing.  The line just never seemed to go down!  One of the Fresno’s crew, OS2 Speith, spoke Thai.  (His mother was Thai).  He overheard a couple of the kids talking about how “stupid the Americans were” because they were coming through the line and getting MORE food, and we didn’t catch them!  The poor kids didn’t realize that we had brought all of the food for them anyway, and it didn’t matter how much they ate or how much they put away.  Speith also said he overheard the kids saying that they were taking the extra food and putting it in a storeroom for later, and that they couldn’t believe how dumb we were for letting them steal our food!  It was kind of funny then, but the more I thought about it, the sadder it made me.  We did end up leaving them everything we had brought – we had more than enough for our needs.

Cooking at the Banglaamen Boy's Home - 06JUN90

As the cookout wound down, an amazing thing happened.  Since I had been cooking most of the day, I was covered from head to toe in hamburger grease.  There was no place to clean up, and I was feeling pretty greasy.  I grabbed a paper towel and tried to clean myself up, but I just managed to smear it around and make myself even dirtier.  That’s when one of the boys walked up and grabbed my hand.  He walked me down to the beach and motioned for me to get into the water.  I didn’t think it would work, but I humored him and waded in.  The water was the hottest ocean water I’d ever felt – it was like a GIANT hot tub!  The water in that small inlet must have been well over 70 degrees!  It was amazing.  I sat down on the white sand under the crystal clear water, and let the hot waves wash over me.  About ten minutes later (it was relaxing as Hell!), I got up, and to my amazement the grease was all gone!  The water had just washed it away.  The boy who had led me to the water was long gone, but I gave him a distant “Thank you” just the same.  I had never felt seawater quite like that before!  It was astoundingly refreshing.

Residents of the Banglaamen Boy's Home say a prayer for us - 06JUN90

 As we packed up to leave, the boys and one of their teachers appeared on the foot volleyball court and began to say a prayer for us.  They all said it out loud and in unison.  I have no idea what it was, since I don’t speak Thai, but I got the intent.  They then sang us a song or two and told us all “thank you”.  It was really a cool way to spend a morning.  It kind of made us wish we’d spent more time doing things like this instead of just sitting in a bar, getting hammered. 

 The boys also introduced us to something called “The Fruit From Mars”.  The Fruit From Mars was an odd little hairy green fruit about the size of a small plum, covered in soft red spines.  We had seen guys selling bags of these thing out on the streets in Pattaya, but none of us had tried one.  They just looked too weird – we didn't know what they were.  As we were leaving, the boys gave us handfuls of the things, and showed us how to open and eat them.  To get at the fruit, you just twisted the outer skin, and it ripped open to reveal something that looked like a large, peeled grape inside.  The “grape” was very juicy, and super sweet – but you had to be careful, because it had a large pit inside.  They were weird to look at, but insanely delicious to taste.

OS2 Speith and the "Fruit From Mars" - 06JUN90

 As we were eating them, one of the officers who had been to Thailand before, told us that the fruit was the most amazing natural hangover cure ever.  A bag of those things, and no matter how hung you were, you would feel hydrated and human in no time.  He didn't know what they were called for real, but he said that next time we were hungover, to buy a few of these things, and we'd be feeling great in no time.

 Years later, I was at a hotel in San Antonio, Texas, and I got to talking to the front desk clerk, who was Thai.  I told her about the Fruit From Mars and described it to her.  She thought for a minute, then said,

“I believe that is called a Rambutan”

I finally had a name for them!  A few years after that, I was working for a healthcare company, and they published a major study on the health benefits of the rambutan, calling it a “Thai superfood”.  Funny – we knew they were amazing twenty years ago!

 As we walked away from the boy's home, we were all feeling satisfied.  We loaded up our gear and climbed on the bus for the drive back to the beach.  We had done a good thing and had made up for a little of the Hell we had raised earlier.  Unfortunately, our activities later that afternoon and night probably more than erased the good conduct points we had earned by feeding hamburgers to orphans.  Such is the life of a sailor!

 When we got back to the beach, we all went our separate ways again – some guys took gear back to the ship, some guys went to watch the Muy-Thai matches, and some guys went to find a beer and a sex show.  I’d like to say that I was above all that, but I have to admit fault – I was one of the guys who went searching for beer and a show.  Up to this point, I had really not partaken in any of Pattaya’s “world famous sex shows”.  I had been too busy killing brain cells than to try to inflate my libido as well.  Besides, after my initial experience in Thailand, I was a little leery of the shows as well – who could tell exactly WHAT you were gonna find on stage!  I spent the majority of that afternoon wandering from bar to bar, seeing the sights and enjoying the mind-blowing acts on stage.  I saw things that day that definitely DID make a sailor blush with shame!  I had no idea that most of the things I saw were humanly possible!  Wow.  My brain was absolutely turned inside out that day!  It was then that I decided to just get as drunk as humanly possible and try to forget all about what I had seen.  The decision being made, I wandered into a small bar in the main cul-de-sac and sat down.

 The room was barely big enough for the bar with one row of stools on each side.  There was just enough room behind the stools for a person to walk around behind them on the way to the bathroom.  There were only three walls – the front of the bar was completely open to the street and had a steel mesh gate they would draw across the entrance when the bar was closed (which wasn’t often!).  The thing that drew me to this bar was the fact that they had a band playing!  Jammed into the back corner was a small three-man band trying their best to play American rock and roll.  They were slaughtering songs like “Louie, Louie” and “Sweet Home Alabama”.  When I stumbled across this bar, I was feeling NOOO pain, so I volunteered to sing with the band. 

 Now, anyone who knows me knows how scary my singing is…let alone when I’m three sheets to the wind.  But there I was, in Thailand, drunk, and ready to get on stage and sing with a Thai rock band!  Since there was no one there to stop me, away we went.  We kicked it off with Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode”.  I started singing like I was born to do it, and the band followed my lead.  It was great – people outside started coming in to see us, and this only made me sing longer, louder and prouder! I was so into what I was doing, in fact, that as the song drew to a close, and the band wasn’t sure where to stop (or when I would stop),  I started making up lyrics and verses as we went.  I must have made up five or six new verses to the song as we went – something about sailors and beer from what I remember.  The band finally came to a confused and out-of-sorts halt, and just shot me a look of disbelief.  They had no idea what the Hell I was doing.  I just smiled and said “American Pie”, and we launched into Don McLean’s “American Pie”.  It was no better than Johnny B. Goode, and I forgot most of the verses.  Luckily, I had the crowd singing along by this time, and we just kind of ignored the fact that none of us knew the words!  We did a couple more songs, and they were all more of the same – half of the real words, half of the words made up, but all of them sung with conviction and feeling!  By the time I was done, I had earned a standing ovation (okay, everyone was already standing because there was no place to sit down, but hey, you gotta take it where you can get it!).  I thanked the band and returned to the bar where I had a half dozen beers waiting for me – gifts from my “fans”, I supposed.  I didn’t care who they were from…it was beer, and it was free, so I was happy.  It was at this point that I met Steward and Jillian.

 Steward and Jillian were like most tourists in Pattaya – they were just looking for a wild time.  They were actually on their honeymoon and were having a great time partying in Thailand.  As we sat and talked (they were buying the beer, after all) I found out that Steward was from Scotland, and Jillian was an Australian.  They seemed like a great couple, and we started to party together and barhop.  Over the next couple of hours, the three of us hit a handful of bars, and ended up watching a snake show in one of them.  I hate snakes, and had a hard time watching the guy let cobras bite at him and letting boa constrictors curl around him.  Steward and Jillian seemed to love it, though.  As the show drew to a close, I was trying to figure out which bar we should go to next, when Steward asked me if I’d like to come up to their room for a drink.  Thinking nothing of the invitation, I readily agreed, and the three of us headed up the street to the big hotel at the top of the cul-de-sac, and then up to their room. 

 I was still blissfully unaware of their ulterior motives as I accepted the beer that Steward offered me and slugged it down.  We made small talk for a bit, and then Jillian spoke up. 

 “Would you like to have a go at me, Yank?” 

 “Excuse me?  A..a…what?” 

 “A go – you know…have sex.” 

I looked at her incredulously – “Have sex with you?  Now?  Here?” 

 “Sure, why not?  That’s why we brought you here.” 

 “But what about your husband?” 

 “Oh – he just wants to take photos” 

 I sat and stared in disbelief.  Here was a beautiful Australian girl asking me to have sex with her in front of her husband, while he took pictures of us.  I thought for a minute…then a minute more….then I decided that of all the things I’m afraid of, cameras were NOT one of them. 

 “Ummm – sure.  I can do that” 

 “Great” said Jillian, as she started to unbutton her blouse, “But you realize that once we’re done, Steward gets a go at you.” 

“What!” 

 “Once we’re done, then Steward gets you, and I take pictures.” 

 She said it like we were discussing the weather – I couldn’t believe it.  She wanted her bisexual husband to have sex with ME while she took pictures of it.  I looked at Steward, and he just smiled.  I had finally found it – the line I would never cross.  I had doubted at times if I had one, but there it was – the Infinite Taboo line!  I quickly put my libido in check, told them they were both sick little puppies, grabbed my beer and stormed out of the room.  I mean, having sex with another man’s wife while he took pictures of it was ONE thing, but having sex with a MAN was quite another!  I did have a small amount of pride and self-respect left!  As I walked out of the hotel, I was feeling thirsty again, so I set off in search of some Fresno friends to drink the memory of that little encounter off my mind.

 As I walked down the block, I looked in several bars to see if I could find any of my friends.  I didn’t see any of them.  One of the bars I stopped in was a small, dark bar in a kind of out-of-the way place, way back in an alley.  I walked in and noticed that the only person in the room (besides the bartender) was an old man sitting at the end of the bar.  Since Thailand was a popular place for retired US Military to come and live, I just figured he was an old sailor or something, so I ordered a beer and sat down and said “Hello”.  The reception I got was less than cordial.  The old man looked at me and told me, through a thick German accent, to leave him alone. 

 I tried once again to strike up a conversation, and the old man turned toward me and let me have it!  He claimed to be an ex-WWII German SS soldier, who still pledged his allegiance to Adolf Hitler.  He told me that he was proud to be a Nazi, and that Americans couldn’t hold a candle to the power of Nazi Germany.  I was getting ready to argue with him, but a quick look of fear from the bartender made me reconsider my actions.  I grabbed my beer from the bar and told the old man to go to Hell, a place I’m sure that Nazi Germany was still alive and strong, and I walked out.  I couldn’t believe it - I’d just been called a pussy by an honest-to-God Nazi…what a wild place!!  It had been an absolutely crazy day so far, and only got crazier as I ran into Sorby, Hick, Jerry Ford and a couple other Fresno sailors at the next bar down the road.

Open air bar in Pattaya Beach, Thailand - 06JUN90

 The bar they were standing at was just across the street from the beach.  It was completely open-air, with only a three-foot high wall between the bar and the sidewalk.  We ordered up some drinks and began to get a little rowdy with the crowd.  Jon Hickersham and I decided that we should have some Jim Beam and coke, so we ordered a couple.  I don’t remember exactly how much they were, but the price was insane!  Basically, those two drinks cost us as much as a six-pack of beer!  However, they tasted really, really good.  Both of us wanted more, but we couldn’t afford it at the bar’s prices.  That’s when I remembered that I’d seen a liquor store down the street.  I told Hick, and the two of us set off to buy a couple of bottles of Beam.  We found the store, bought a pint each, and then headed back to the bar we had been in.  The bartender looked at us funny when we only ordered two cokes.

  “You want rum?  Whiskey?” 

 “Nope, two cokes – we’ll mix our own.” 

 And being the brilliant men we were, Wick and I showed the bartender our pints.  He immediately upped the price of two cokes to around 5 bucks a piece!  Jerk – who’d have thought that they’d have been smart enough to charge us a corkage fee!  Jon and I just shrugged, and paid the outrageous prices, and drank our pints.  By the time we were done with the Beam, we didn’t seem to care quite so much about how much the coke had cost!  After we had drained our bottles, it was time to move the party down the road.  We ended up at another little bar by the one I had made my singing debut in earlier in the evening.  The little bar was jumping, and we were sitting there were having a good time, when Hick noticed a girl in orange spandex pants come walking in.

 The girl in the orange spandex pants was a traveling bar girl – a prostitute who spent her time roaming from bar to bar, looking for someone to pay her fee.  On this night, she had set her sights on Jon Hickersham.  She walked over and sat on Hick’s lap, whispering in his ear.  I left the two of them alone for a minute, while I walked over to the other side of the bar were a bunch of a bunch of other Fresno guys standing. There was John Sorby, Kenny Arrington, Mike Derkins, and Mitch Barris.  We finished our beers, ordered up another, then walked back over and joined Hick and the girl in the orange spandex.  The group of us were in the mood for love, so we sat down, drank our beers, and started trying to talk her into going home with one of us instead of Hick. 

 The girl looked confused, and the fact that she was being pawed at by six guys didn’t help matters much.  Finally, she said that we should come to her house, and she’d introduce us to her friends.  This sounded like a great idea to us, so the whole group jumped in a jeepney and took a short trip to another part of Pattaya, where we got out in front of what looked like a small hotel.  She led us into the hotel, to a small sitting room, where a group of about ten more girls were waiting.  Suddenly we realized that we had been taken to a whorehouse, and the girl in the orange had the job of bringing in the clients for the rest of the girls.  We quickly surveyed the room and the selections and decided that maybe we’d stay for a bit.  The Mama-San then walked in and asked us to make our choices and pick a room.

 All of us were still trying to get the attention of the girl in the orange spandex and get her to take us to her room.  I was surprised as anyone when she grabbed MY hand and led me up the stairs.  I couldn’t believe that she had picked me!  The fact that I felt honored to be chosen as the first of the night for a Thai hooker was a pretty sad testimony to the state of my love life!  I didn’t complain though, and I performed my duties admirably. 

 After we were finished, I paid her 100 Baht for her services, and headed downstairs where the guys were waiting.  I came down in nothing but a pair of shorts, carrying my shirt and shoes.  I was absolutely dripping in sweat, and had a big, dopey grin on my face.  I got a standing ovation from the rest of the gang who was waiting for sloppy seconds, or thirds, or whatever.  Evidently, the girl in the orange spandex was quite popular, as there was a line waiting for her.  Most of the gang was still sitting in the front room, but Sorby was nowhere to be found.

 The guys said that he had chosen a different girl and had gone upstairs to conduct his business right after I had.  About a minute after I had come down the stairs, and another had gone up to replace me, John walked down.  He was sweating like a pig and had the same big dopey smile as I did.  He got a standing “O” as well.  And so it went, as soon as one sweaty Frez sailor would come down the stairs to get his standing “O”, another would go up and take his place, until the sitting room was full of sweaty, happy, drunk sailors who were all on the verge of falling asleep.  It had been a great night of liberty to say the least.  We thanked the Mama-San and the girl in the orange spandex pants, and walked out, en masse, to find a jeepney back to the beach and the liberty boat.  It didn’t take us long to flag one down, and before we knew it, we were standing on the beach once again, waiting for the boat to take us home, and to our warm, comfortable racks where we could sleep it off, and get ready for one last day of Thailand liberty.  It sounded great…too bad I had long since quit listening to myself.

 As the liberty boat pulled up to the beach, and the crew climbed aboard, I had a sudden change of heart, and I didn’t get on.  I just stood there and waved goodbye as the boat pulled away.  I had decided that I wasn’t quite drunk enough, and there were still a few good hours left in this wild night, so I stayed.  I watched the boat sail into the darkness, then turned and headed back to the strip to find a little more trouble before I turned in for the night.  As I stumbled the two or three blocks back toward the major cul-de-sac of clubs, I tried to think up a plan.  Unfortunately for me, by this time any hope of logical thought was pretty much gone, so I just did what came naturally – I improvised.

 My improvisation led me to a seat next to the dance floor in a club called “The Baby-A-Go-Go”.  I had heard the name before, and I had even walked in, but I had never been there late enough to see the “real” show.  I sat down and ordered a drink (because Lord knows I needed one), and a girl came out on stage and started her bump and grind routine.  At first glance, she looked like the typical Thai girl – young, thin and short.  Her breasts were very small, but most Thai girls were, so there was still no cause for alarm.  As my gaze slowly wandered downwards, I suddenly realized that the Baby-A-Go-Go was an all-nude bar!  I wasn’t too surprised, but when I saw that the dancer had absolutely no pubic hair, I began to get concerned.  I looked at her again, and I focused on her face (as much as I could focus, anyway) when it dawned on me.  This reason this girl had no pubic hair wasn’t because she shaved, but because she was all of twelve years old!  The Baby-A-Go-Go was just that – a Go Go for babies!  I immediately jumped out of my chair, grabbed my beer and made a beeline for the door!  It was the most unbelievable thing I’d seen since we’d been in Thailand, and I had seen some downright unbelievable things.  What bothered me the most about it though, wasn’t the fact that there were naked twelve-year olds dancing for money, but that the bar was absolutely packed with men offering them money!  I guess even drunken derelicts like me have their limits – and watching twelve-year olds strip for money was waaaay past mine!

 After I left the Baby-A-Go-Go, I decided I needed some adult entertainment that was of an actual adult age!  I ventured into a couple of clubs nearby and watched a couple of other shows that boggled the mind.  At least the girls on stage at these clubs were of legal age!  After about an hour of drinking and enjoying the shows, I began to get tired.  I figured it was about time to head back to the liberty boat and catch a ride to the ship.  Suddenly, I stumbled across the most beautiful Thai girl I had seen yet.  She was working at one of the small beer kiosks in the middle of the cul-de-sac, and she made the fateful mistake of smiling at me!  I took this as my invitation to sit down, and I made myself a place on a stool in front of her stand.  She said “Hi.” And handed me an ice-cold Sing Ha – the other local beer of choice.  We struck up a conversation, and she told me that she got off work in about an hour and asked if I’d like to go to a club with her.  I was more than ready for a little more fun by this time, and quickly agreed.  She said that I should just wait there, and she’d take care of me until she was done.  True to her word, the free Sing Ha kept coming.  I must have drained another six-pack sitting there, waiting for her to get off work.  By the time she was ready to go, it was a little after 02:00 in the morning!  I had been partying and going hard for the past 15 hours or so and was nowhere near ready to quit!  She handed me one more beer for the road, closed the front of her bar, grabbed me by the hand and said

“C’mon – let’s go”.

 The club she led me to was a couple of blocks off the strip.  She told me that it was the club all the locals went to after hours.  A bunch of her girlfriends were there, and we sat down at a big table with them.  As I looked around the club, I saw very few Americans, only a few random guys who’s dates had brought them in, like me.  As we sat and drank and danced with her friends, it dawned on me that, even though no one had spoken a word of English in over an hour, I was having a blast!  A couple more Sing Ha’s and a couple of shots of some ungodly nasty Thai liquor made sure that the fun continued. 

 Finally, around 04:00, she asked if I was ready to go home.  It wasn’t until this point that I had even considered that this night might end up in bed.  After all, I had just come from a whorehouse when I met the girl I was with now!  I nodded in agreement, and she and I walked out and caught a jeepney to her place.  By the time we got there, the early morning darkness hid most of the details of her apartment complex, but I could tell that it was pretty run-down by American standards.  We walked up a flight of badly deteriorating cement stairs and ended up in front of a wooden door that looked like it had been kicked in a few times.  I was a bit concerned for a moment – stories of servicemen being led into traps by bargirls, where there were ten guys waiting to beat the Hell out of them and steal their money, were running rampant in my brain.  In reality, I had nothing to fear.

 When she opened her door and we stepped inside, I about half expected to get hit over the head with something heavy.  I braced myself for the blow, but it never came.  She reached up and turned on the one bare light bulb that hung in her one-room apartment.  The light revealed a cramped room with a mattress in one corner, and a hotplate and dishtub in the other.  Along the back wall sat a toilet and a drain, with a six-inch high concrete wall separating the “bathroom” from the rest of the apartment.  She had hung a sheet from the ceiling in an attempt to give the bathroom a little privacy, but it was still pretty easy to see it all.  I asked her if she lived here all alone, and she told me that she did have a roommate.  It was one of the girls we’d been partying with at the club.  I didn’t remember which one it was, and she told me not to worry, because her roommate had a boyfriend, and wouldn’t be home at all.  

 We sat and made small talk for a couple more minutes, and then she reached in a box by her bed and pulled out an M.R.E.  She seemed very confused by it, and all she knew was that some Marine had given in to her in exchange for some beers, and she wanted to know what it was.  I explained to her that an M.R.E. was field rations for Marines.  I opened the pack and showed her all the food inside – the main course (Chicken ala King, I believe), the dessert, the dehydrated fruit.  She thought it was awesome and asked me if I could get her some more.  I said

 “Sure, no problem”, even though I knew I couldn’t get my hands on any by tomorrow, and since we were leaving the day after that, it was a pretty safe lie. 

 She seemed to be really tickled by this news, and she threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug, followed by a long kiss.  I had about a half an idea what would happen next – I fully expected her to stop the kiss and ask me for money.  I was just sure that this bargirl was the same as all of the others and was just being nice to me to get me hot and bothered enough that I’d pay top dollar for it.  The joke was on me, though, as she never asked me for a dime.  She continued the kiss, and the roaming hands soon followed, and as I began to think that this thing might actually happen, she reached up and turned off the light.  The early morning sun was just starting to lighten up the sky, as she and I sealed the deal from the night before.  It was wonderful – much, much better than my earlier dalliance with the girl in the orange spandex pants.  We were having so much fun, in fact, that neither of us heard the door open.

 The first sign I had that something might be wrong was when I opened my eyes to see a whole lot more light in the room than had been there a couple of seconds earlier.  I turned my head toward the source of the light and saw a silhouette in the doorway.  I froze in terror!  I had no idea who this person was – for all I knew it was the girl’s mother, and I was about to get whacked with a machete!  The girl (who was on top of me – convenient placement when one is trying to avoid being hacked to pieces by repeated blows from an angry, machete-wielding mother) tightened her grip on my shoulders and froze.  Neither of us moved a muscle - it was a very tense couple of seconds that seemed to last eons.  Then the door closed, and I heard giggling!  A more welcome sound I have never heard!  It was the girl’s roommate – not her mother or her angry father. 

 I was instantly relived, and then a tad annoyed that I wouldn’t be able to finish the job I had started.  The girl and I had a sheet covering us, and her roommate just sat down on the edge of the bed and started carrying on a conversation with her.  I was kind of put off by the awkward situation, but I was trying to make the best of it.  I tried to avoid eye contact with the roommate, and concentrate on what I was doing, when it happened.  The roommate leaned in and planted a huge kiss on the girl I was with.  The girl I was with returned the kiss and lifted up the sheet as an offer to join the two of us.  My head spun – all of my nasty little adolescent fantasies were about to come true!  I couldn’t believe my luck!  As it turned out, my girl and her roommate were actually lovers who dabbled in bisexuality.  Each of them would, from time to time, bring home a guy to see if they still had any interest in heterosexuality, and if it so happened, the other roommate would just come along for the ride.  At this point in time, I had absolutely NO inclination to argue with their warped moral code, and I just laid back and enjoyed the ride.  Believe you me, it was well worth the trip!  Wow!  Thailand had just lived up to the hype!

Thursday, 7JUN90 – Pattaya Beach, Thailand

ñ  Woke up at noon

ñ  Went to ship & back

ñ  Ate at Thai stand

ñ  Went to Rancho Tejas with Kent Pulling & Buck Allagria

ñ  Bought souvenirs

ñ  Didn't get chewed.

 I pretty much missed the morning hours of June 7^th.  I remember seeing the clock radio turn to 07:00 am as I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew, the sun was blasting my eyes, and the clock read 12:00!  I slowly opened my eyes and looked around – I was in a small, dingy concrete room, and I was laying on a mattress that was placed right in the middle of the floor.  I could see a hotplate by one wall, and a small dresser made from milk crates on the other.  As the fog slowly lifted from my brain, I realized that I was in the girl’s apartment…but there was no girl.  I thought for a second – wait a minute…weren’t there two girls?  Or was that all a Sing Ha-induced fantasy?  Then I heard the quiet voices behind the impromptu shower curtain wall that separated the bathroom from the rest of the apartment.  The girls were in their shower, washing each other!  I made just enough noise that they knew I was awake, but not enough to disturb them – or so I thought.  The next thing I knew, two wet faces appeared around the sides of the shower curtain, and then suddenly, two very wet and very naked girls ran over and grabbed me, and led me into their shower. 

 Their shower was nothing more than a spigot on the wall which ran cold water, and cold water only!  They would fill up a plastic bucket, then take turns dumping it on one another.  Since I was a good foot taller than either of the girls, they made me get down on my knees so they could wash me properly.  That was the weirdest, coldest, most enjoyable shower I’ve ever taken!  There’s just something oddly erotic about having a mop bucket of cold water poured over your head by two naked Thai lesbians while you knelt on a concrete floor.  What a way to wake up!

 After we finished cleaning up, toweling off (we all shared their one towel), and getting dressed, it was time to go.  The girl I was with took ahold of my hand and told me to stay with her for a while.  I didn’t have any other plans, so I said “sure”.  Her friend took off and went to work, leaving the girl (I have to call her “the girl”, because I never did learn her name) and I alone.

 There wasn’t much to do in her apartment, I mentioned the fact that I was absolutely starving.  She took me by the hand, and led me outside, down the dilapidated old concrete stairs, and into the main courtyard of her apartment complex.  Over at one end of the complex was a fruit and grocery stand that doubled as a small restaurant.  It was definitely a place for locals only, because you’d have had no idea that they sold meals there if you were just by walking by.  It was kind of the neighborhood lunch counter, and there were about ten other Thais sitting there, eating.  I was the only “round-eye” in sight.  The girl led us to a couple of empty chairs by the counter and said something to the old woman who ran the stand.  The old lady nodded, and went to work, cooking some rice and cubes of an unidentified meat along with some of the strangest vegetables I’d ever seen, in a big wok.  She deftly spun, tossed, twirled, and mixed the food, and in no time flat, she presented us with two large, steaming plates of lunch.  I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I was too damn hungry to care, so I grabbed a fork and dug in.  It was incredible!  That fried rice/meat/vegetable dish was one of the most flavorful things I’ve ever eaten.  I ate every speck of it and finished off what my girl didn’t eat of hers.  And then I ordered more.  I was starving!  The old lady couldn’t believe how much I could eat, and she just kept cooking for me.  After about the third wok full, I was done.  I thanked the old lady and reached in my pocket for some Baht to pay her with.  She refused my money.  It seemed that she and the girl I was with had some kind of deal worked out.  Evidently, the girl did some work for the old woman in exchange for meals.  I still felt bad about eating so much, so I forced the old woman to take my last 100 Baht.  She thanked me profusely, and feeling as full as could be, I got up and walked hand-in-hand with the girl back towards town.

 The walk back was kind of awkward.  I really didn’t want anything to do with this girl, and she didn’t seem to want to leave me alone.  Her English was very good and we talked a lot about what it was like in the States.  She said that she really wanted to go there and asked me if I’d take her.  I hemmed and hawed, looking for an answer, and then she told me that I should marry her, because she loved me and she was sure that she was pregnant. 

 The “Psycho Alarm” went off in my head instantaneously!  I knew that I had to get the Hell away from her, and fast, before she went completely off the deep end.  We had all heard horror stories about girls who had pulled cons on servicemen by claiming they were pregnant in order to get money, or better, get married.  The military took a fairly dim view of their members getting girls pregnant out of wedlock, and pretty much forced us to pay child support to whomever the mother was.  All of these thoughts rushed through my mind, as the grip on my hand got tighter and tighter.  Plans of escape were quickly formulating in my head, and when I finally saw my opportunity, I grabbed it.

 She had led me into a clothing shop after dropping hints that she wanted me to buy her a new outfit, and that I “owed” it to her for last night.  Since I hadn’t paid her any money for sex, she thought that I should buy her something nice to prove to her that I loved her.  I quickly scanned the shop for the nearest exit.  I was in luck!  The shop was right in the middle of a big building, and both the front and the rear of the store opened out onto the streets on either side of the block.  You could walk in one door, through the store, and out the other door and end up a block away from where you started!  I took this as my opportunity.  I pretended to be picking out some clothes for her, and I found a dress with all kinds of buttons and bows on it.  I figured it would take forever for her to get it fastened up.  I held it up to her and told her that she looked beautiful, and I’d love to see it on her.  She just smiled at me and walked me to the dressing rooms along one of the walls.  She tried to get me to come inside the stall with her, but I told her I’d wait right outside for her.  She agreed and went in.  No sooner had she drawn the curtain across the front of the booth, than I began to back away from the dressing rooms.  I watched the bottom of the booth, until I saw her take her shorts off.  Knowing that she was naked underneath, and wouldn’t come running after me, I dropped the bags that she had bought at the store before this one, turned, and sprinted for the back door! 

 I was moving at full speed when I hit the street, and I ran through the crowd, all the way back to the beach where the liberty boats were waiting.  My luck held, as the Fresno’s liberty boat was just getting ready to shove off.  I jumped on board  and didn’t look back to see if she was chasing me until we were underway, and too far away from the shore to swim!  With a terrified glance, I looked towards the beach.  I didn’t see her – I had made my getaway!  As I sat back and tried to gather my thoughts about the night’s activities and the morning’s weirdness, I just sighed and chalked one up to “I’ll have a helluva story to tell about this someday!”.

  The boat neared the Fresno, and I had almost decided that I would just go take a shower and hit my rack and sleep through my last day in Thailand, but Kent Pulling changed my mind.  Kent was an MR, and a good friend of mine.  He was a cowboy from the little town of Iraan, Texas.  A great guy.  I spent a lot of time hanging out in the MR shop with him and a few of the other  cowboys amongst the Fresno’s sailors and Marines.  The group of us always had a good time listening to country music and playing cards down there.  I had never really hung out with the group on liberty, though, and Kent asked me why. 

 “I don’t know, I just party with the deck guys, I guess – no real reason” 

 “Well, why don’t you go get cleaned up and come out with us today- we found someplace really cool.” 

 Kent told me about a place called Rancho Tejas.  It was a small bar and restaurant out in the jungle that was owned by an ex-Navy Chief.  He had retired and moved to Thailand with his wife and opened this little place.  According to Kent, it was just like being at your Dad’s place – they were really friendly and had horseshoes and volleyball and lots of cold beer.  It sounded awesome to me – I was beginning to feel a bit homesick anyway.  I told him to wait while I took a quick shower and changed clothes, but Kent was anxious to get there, and the boat was about to leave.  He handed me a business card with the address on it and told me to take a cab there.  Then he got on the boat and shoved off.  I headed for my berthing area, took a quick shower and got changed, then walked back to the stern gate to wait for the next liberty boat.

 As I waited for the boat, I made a very disturbing discovery – I only had ten dollars left to my name!  Not near enough to get hammered.  For me, this was a serious problem.  I'd been running through money like a drunken sailor on shore leave, and had blown $300 in the previous three days of Thai liberty.  The issue at hand was that I still had roughly 15 hours of liberty left and only $10 in my pocket.  I thought about going to find a slusher, but by time I had talked myself into it, the liberty boat had appeared.  I jumped on board and decided that ten bucks would have to be enough.  I knew I wouldn’t be drinking much this day, because I couldn’t afford it.  I sat back and relaxed, and just enjoyed the ride to the beach.  The sun was warm, the seas were a beautiful aqua blue, and the sky was clear as clear could be.  The colors of the palm trees and the white beaches and the flowers were amazing.  Thailand was as close to Paradise as I’ll ever be.  It was simply stunning!  By the time the boat reached the shore, I was almost asleep!  The tide was in when we got there, and the boat beached itself about twenty feet from the shore.  The sudden jolt woke me, and I joined the other guys in jumping into the water and wading to shore.  The closer I got, the more I studied the faces in the crowd, anxiously looking for the girl from that morning.  I didn’t see her and was relieved.  I quickly flagged down a cab, handed him the Rancho Tejas business card that Pulling had given me, and sat back and watched Pattaya disappear as the jungle sprung up all around us. 

 Rancho Tejas was only a couple of miles out of Pattaya, but it might as well have been in another world.  It was completely covered in trees, and the sounds of the birds and smells of the flowers overloaded the senses.  I paid the cabbie with the last few Baht in my pocket, then followed the sounds of laughter toward the bar.  Rancho Tejas was its own little compound, inside a three-foot high stone wall.  There was a large open-air bar, a huge barbecue pit, volleyball courts and horseshoe pits.  It looked just like a park in any American city, and the feeling was definitely comfortable.  I found Kent and a couple other of our “hanging buds” at the bar.  EN3 Benton was there, as were Buck Allagria and Tony Letcholais, who were both Marines that hung out with us a lot. 

 Dave Benton, Kent and Buck were all from Texas, so they had already made fast friends with the owner of the place.  The owner was an old retired Navy Chief from Texas, who had just decided that Thailand needed a place for sailors to come that would remind them of home.  As I looked around at the pictures on the wall of the bar, I realized that Rancho Tejas had become kind of a staple for the officers of the ships that pulled into Pattaya.  There were pictures of the owner of the bar sitting on the bridge of a dozen different ships, and pictures of those ships’ C.O.’s sitting at the bar of Rancho Tejas.  As I walked around and looked at the pictures, the owner’s wife came up and handed me a beer. 

“On the house” she said, “Welcome home”. 

It was a great afternoon.  We drank a few beers, ate some barbecued hamburgers, played some horseshoes, and just sat around and shot the shit like we were back home.  After five months at sea, Rancho Tejas was just what we needed!  When it came time to leave, none of us wanted to go.  The owner shook all of our hands, and his wife gave us all a big hug.  

 “Y’all come back and see us again” they said. 

 We all promised we would, and someday – if I ever get back to Thailand – the first place I’m going to go is Rancho Tejas.  It was the best afternoon I’d had since I left Wyoming nearly two years earlier.  It also made me just that much more eager for July 12^th, and our return home and my release from active duty!

 The group of us caught a cab back to Pattaya, and then Kent and I decided that we needed to get some souvenirs.  I fished out my last five bucks and went on a buying frenzy.  I began to dicker like nobody’s business.  The horse trader in me came out in a big way, and I parlayed that five bucks into a pair of engraved water buffalo horns, a big, hand-painted silk fan, a few t-shirts and a pair of beach pants with a matching shirt.  I was a bargain shopper!  The haul I ended up with was pretty impressive.  Kent had done nearly as well, and the two of us surmised that the vendors must have known that the ship was getting ready to leave, so they were having a last minute “fire sale” to make those last few bucks before the Americans left town.  Whatever it was, we sure got our money’s worth.  We headed for the beach, and one last trip back to the ship.

 As the liberty boat arrived, and we got on board for the last time, I looked back at the lights of Pattaya Beach.  It had been five of the wildest, craziest, coolest days of my life.  I had seen, heard, tasted and felt things I never had before.  From then on, the stories of Thailand would remain a staple of my wild story repertoire at parties and gatherings.  I must say, that above and beyond any other port we went to, Thailand stands alone as the one place that lived up to – and went beyond – all of the hype and expectations we had.  If I were ever to win the lottery, the first thing I’d do is take about a dozen of my closest friends to Pattaya for a week.  Watch them experience everything firsthand!  What a riot.  Yes, Thailand was my absolute favorite liberty port – and I will never forget this absolutely crazy, hedonistic week in the tropics!

 

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN:  THAILAND TO THE PHILIPPINES

 

The morning of June 8^th was a slow one aboard the Fresno.  98% of the crew were getting over five-day hangovers, and the other two percent were lying about it.  As we pulled up anchor and steamed away from the coast, the mood onboard seemed to change.  For one, we were headed back to the P.I. for the last visit of WestPac.  Unfortunately, according to all of the reports we were hearing, the Philippines were in an uproar, and they weren’t letting U.S. Servicemen off the base for liberty.  The other realization was that we were only a month away from home.  The wild, crazy fun times were basically over, and it was time to start making preparations for a homecoming. 

 Everyone was excited by the prospect of getting back to the States, but we were all a little sad to leave behind the life we’d come to know this last five months.  Traditionally, the one last stop in the P.I. was when everyone had their farewell parties, and ships would cap off their deployments with one last crazy week.  It was this final week in the P.I. in 1988 when I had joined the Fresno crew, and I was more than a little disappointed to hear that we wouldn’t be experiencing the same thing this time around.  As the crew took it all in, we settled quickly into our all too familiar at-sea routine.  Watches were posted, PMS was done, and the never-ending stream of ship’s work ate through the next five days of steaming toward the P.I.

 

Friday, 8JUN90

ñ  Left Thailand

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Uploaded SRBOC's

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing

ñ  Flight Deck Crash Drill – perfect score

ñ  Made tape for Cowboy

ñ  Taped my Thai tapes

 

Saturday, 9JUN90

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  .50 Cal & 3”50 gun shoot

ñ  Mt. 32 left gun broke

ñ  GQ drills

ñ  Rained like Hell

ñ  Grace admitted fault!

ñ  Set clocks back

 

Sunday, 10JUN90

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Fixed Mt. 32

ñ  Peleliu rescued boat of refugees

ñ  Taped stuff & played spades in armory w/ Grunts

ñ  Rained all day

ñ  Wrote letter to Janet

 For the most part, this short trip was uneventful.  There were more gun exercises, and mount 32 broke again.  We spent a couple more days fixing it (in the pouring rain), but she was soon up and running like new.  I guess that this deployment did accomplish one task – it taught the Fresno’s Gun Crew about 3”50 gun mounts, inside AND out!  We did a few helo landings, and a few GQ drills.  According to my log, it pretty much rained this entire voyage.  Of the more interesting highlights in my journal was the observation on June 9^th.  It says simply – “Grace admitted fault!”  Evidently, Jon had finally taken responsibility for something going wrong and had said that it might be his fault that something didn’t work right.  It was a small confession, I’m sure, but a confession nonetheless.  For Jon, this was a big step!

 Among the other highlights in my writings was an entry on June 10^th that talked about one of the ships in our group, the USS Peleliu, picking up a boat full of refugees.  I’m not sure where they were from, or where they were headed, but more than likely it was a boatload of Cambodian Boat People setting sail for the US.  I have no idea what became of them, just that the Peleliu rescued them that day.  There was also mention of another .50 caliber machine gun exercise, and once again, I didn’t get to shoot.  I was beginning to wonder if I’d EVER get a chance to shoot the .50 cals.  I figured that we had one month left – I’d surely get at least one shot at it!

Monday, 11JUN90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Rained all day

ñ  Turned in chit for non-duty status

ñ Found out P.I. Gates are open  

 On the 11^th, I turned in a request chit to be put on non-duty status.  It was pretty much a standard thing for sailors about to get off Active Duty to request.  Very few of them were ever granted, and like the majority of them, I figured mine would be denied as well.  You can’t blame a guy for trying, and you could have knocked me over with a feather when it was actually approved!  Unfortunately, it wouldn't take effect until AFTER we left the P.I., but it had still been OK'd, and that was enough for me.  We also found out on the 11^th that the Main Gate in Subic was open.  They were letting people leave the base on liberty.  The only downside was that liberty was secured at 7:00pm.  Once the sun went down, they wanted us on base.  Evidently, the Filipino Rebels were getting a little too close for comfort, and a couple of guys had already been shot when they wandered a little too far away from town.  We didn’t know it at the time, but the uprising around Subic was just a small part of a much larger movement toward total independence in the Philippines.  Just a year or so later, all of the U.S. military bases in the P.I. would be closed, and cities like Olongapo would become ghost towns – mere shells of their heyday selves.  We didn’t see it coming at all, but we did decide that the scant few hours of Olongapo liberty that we had left, we had to make count!  And make them count we did!

 

Tuesday, 12JUN90

ñ  1 MONTH LEFT!

ñ  Highline Transfer w/ Peleliu – didn't shoot

ñ  Did Weeklies & DC

ñ  Did 2 hrs EMI

ñ  Hung out in MR Shop

June 12^th, the day before we pulled into Subic Bay, marked our official One Month Left date.  We were all excited about the fact that we only had four weeks of deployment to go.  The constantly changing mood aboard the Fresno began to lighten a bit, and we knew that we had to make the best of these last few days.  For some reason, I had to do two hours of E.M.I. (Extra Military Instruction) on this day as well.  E.M.I. was like detention in middle school – after everyone else knocked off work, you had to stay and work for two more hours.  I don’t recall what I was given E.M.I. for, but rest assured it was more of someone with an axe to grind than something I actually did.  It was probably something like GMG2 Muna finding out about me coming in late from liberty in Thailand and deciding to help me set myself straight.  He was always trying to help us do the right thing and this was his method of help.  It’s no wonder that he and I never really did see eye-to-eye. 

 As we all turned in that night, we dreamt of the next four days and our very last visit to the P.I. for WestPac of 1990.  For many of us, it would be our last visit ever.  I had mixed feelings about that, but I knew I was excited about being back in the P.I..  I was going to finally get my WestPac jacket!  I had actually earned the right to wear one, and I had a kick-ass design in mind.  My cruise jacket was going to be the coolest one ever!  I also had some plans for some serious drinking, but unfortunately, as lucky as I had been with the duty schedule in Thailand, I was that unlucky in the P.I..  Of the four days we were in port, I had duty on two of them.  Oh well, you can’t win ‘em all!

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT:  A FINAL P.I. GOODBYE

 

Wednesday, 13JUN90 – Philippines (Duty)

ñ  Found out Muna made GMG1

ñ  Did M-2 on .50 Cal mounts

ñ  Mail call – 1 from Jenny, 1 from Janet

ñ  0400-0800 POOW

ñ  Downloaded SRBOCS

Our first day back in the good ol’ P.I.  The Philippines truly was our “home away from home” on WestPac, and we all felt pretty comfortable there.  The sights, the sounds and even the smells became familiar, and let us know we were home again.  It was kind of sad to know that this was our very last visit here. Even sadder was the knowledge that things weren’t quite the same as most of us had come to know and love about the dear old P.I.  The political climate had changed dramatically, and the Filipinos seemed more and more set on kicking the U.S. military out of their country.  In their quest for independence, which would include the overthrow of the Marcos dynasty, the Filipinos wanted no part of the U.S. presence in their country.  The dissent amongst the locals was quiet back on our first visit in February, but as evidenced by our quick run to Okinawa in April to pick up more Marines to bolster the base security forces, things were heating up.  By June, the unspoken hatred had spilled out into the streets. 

 There had been a couple of U.S. Servicemen killed, and a number of them robbed and beaten.  As a result, off-base liberty had been secured for a while.  When we got there, we weren’t sure if we’d be able to leave the base or not, but as luck would have it, they had decided to re-open the gates.  The only stipulation was that we had to be back on base by sundown – 7:00pm!  That was a real letdown.  We were all primed to raise some serious Hell on our last week, but now we would only be allowed to leave base for about four hours a day (after work, from 3:00 until 7:00).  It proved to be a smart decision, however, as the U.S. was forced to pull all of their forces from the Philippines about a year later, after a few more off-base incidents occurred.

 I had duty on the first day back.  Nothing too exciting – spent the day doing P.M.S. and cleaning the .50 cal machine guns.  I still had never been allowed to shoot the .50’s, and I was running out of time.  GMG1 had promised me that I’d get to shoot before we got back to the States, but there weren’t many chances left!  I kept them clean and in good working order, so that when my chance did come, I would have good equipment to work with – I wasn’t about to waste my one chance at firing a .50 cal machine gun get wasted due to a jam or some other type of malfunction!  We also found out on this day that GMG2 Muna had been promoted to First Class.  I was glad for him – even though we didn’t exactly get along.  I kept thinking that this was just what the Navy needed – another Filipino First Class who didn’t know anything about his job.  Oh well, I was off active duty in another month, so what was the use of bitching about it?

 I did get a letter from Janet at mail call – it was a great letter.  She had decided that I should stop and see her in Evanston, WY on my way home after I got back to the States.  She was on summer break from college and was at her folks’ place.  That was right on the way back to Laramie, and she said that maybe I could even have my Dad drop me off there, and that she and I should drive back to Laramie together to find apartments and get ready for school to start.  I was incredibly excited – my first girlfriend, and already she wanted me to meet her folks and take a road trip!  This was getting good.  I immediately sat down and wrote her a letter telling her what a great idea I thought it was, and how much I was looking forward to seeing her in a month.  I then wrote a letter to my Dad and let him know the new plan.  Since he and Matt had decided to drive to L.A., then fly to Hawaii and join us on the Tiger Cruise, I could just have him swing by Janet's house and drop me off on the way home – how convenient!  I turned in early that night – happy as a lark.  I did have to stand the 04-08:00 watch, but it didn’t seem that bad all of a sudden.  I was just one happy kid – a girlfriend, and only a month left to go on active duty – what could possibly ruin that?  If I'd have only known...

 

Thursday, 14JUN90 – Philippines

ñ  Painted handrails

ñ  Mail Call – 1 from AT&T, 2 from Janet

ñ  Called home

ñ  Ordered jackets

ñ  Non-duty chit got OK'd

ñ  Partied at D'Office & on base w/ Curly

ñ  Got chewed – puked all over

Another great day.  Work went smoothly – we spent most of the day painting handrails and laying around in the sun, pretending to work (not that that was unusual or anything).  Mail call was great as well, I got two more letters from Janet!  She just talked a little more about our plan for after I got out, and even suggested that maybe we could find an apartment together for the school year!  I was pretty well shocked – I hadn’t really even considered living with a girl.  It sounded like a great idea at the time, however, so I fired off a quick letter at lunchtime and told her so.  At liberty call, I was pretty amped up over the way things were shaping up after my release from active duty, so instead of making a bee-line for the Main Gate, I headed over to the phone exchange on base and put forty bucks worth of charges on my AT&T card for a phone call to my folks.

 It was great to talk to everyone at home.  It had been so long since I’d heard their voices.  I told them all about Janet, and Dad told me all about their plans to come on the Tiger Cruise.  He and Matt were going to drive to L.A., then park his truck at the UP Railyards there, and catch a shuttle to the airport, then fly out to Honolulu, where I would meet them.  They had hotel reservations in Honolulu that night, and we thought we’d do a little sightseeing in Hawaii the next morning.  After that, we’d check them in onboard the Frez, and get ready for the ten-day sail home.  After we got back to Long Beach, we planned on driving up the coast to Roseville (just outside of Sacramento) to visit my Aunt Sandra and Uncle John.  My Grandma Pete would be there too, so we’d get to see a whole bunch of family at once.  We’d spend a couple days there, then hit the road and drive back to Wyoming.  Dad agreed to drop me off in Evanston, with the promise that I’d be back in Laramie in no more than two days to see my Mom.  It sounded like a great plan, and everything looked to be falling into place.  I was on cloud 9 when I walked out of the phone exchange and headed for the Main Gate.  There was no way this night could possibly turn bad.  I had even visited one of my slusher buddies and worked out a special rate for a large loan ($250) since I knew I'd have to pay for my jacket and one night out on town, I was still broke from Thailand and payday wasn't until tomorrow.  He let me borrow it for $20, so I went for it - I wasn't about to let my own financial (mis)management skills ruin one of my last two nights of P.I. liberty!

 Once out of the gate, and onto Magsaysay, I headed to the only logical place – D’Office!  On the way, I passed a store that specialized in WestPac Jackets, and decided I had better order mine now, or it wouldn’t be finished in time.  A WestPac Jacket was, in my mind, one of the more important trophies of my military service.  I had seen other guys walking around with cruise jackets, and I couldn’t wait to earn one of my own.  The cruise jacket (Ours were WestPac Jackets, since we were on the West Coast) was to a sailor like a letterman’s jacket was to a high school football player.  It was a symbol of status amongst the Navy rank-and-file to prove that we had “been there, done that, and had the jacket to prove it”.  Each WestPac jacket was individual, since you designed your own.  They were fairly similar – black satin with flags of the different countries you visited sewn onto them, and your name and rank sewn on the front.  From there, the designs were as varied as the men who wore them. 

 My design consisted of the standard black jacket, with the flag of each country we had been to (or state, in the case of Hawaii and California) sewn down both sleeves.  On the back of my jacket, I had a picture of the Fresno superimposed over a globe, with a dragon wrapped around her to represent our Pacific experience.  On the front of the jacket, I wanted one side to have an embroidered picture of King Neptune with the word “Shellback” underneath to let all the Slimy Wogs know who I was.  And on the other side, I wanted a Wyoming flag with my name under it, and under that, I wanted the Gunner’s Mate symbol of crossed cannons, with the epithet, “Guns of steel, Rounds of brass – we’re the ones who protect your ass” embroidered in gold thread.  To me, it sounded like a helluva cool jacket.  The man at the counter took my order, and told me it would be ready by Saturday, which was good, because that was our last day in the P.I.  I gave him my $40 and then continued on my way toward D’Office.

 On the way down Magsaysay, I suddenly had a thought – what about another tattoo to prove that I was a true WestPac Sailor?  I mean, you can’t say that you’re a true WestPac Squid without getting a Filipino or Hong Kong tattoo now, can you?  I walked into a tattoo parlor about halfway between the Main Gate and D’Office and started looking around at the flash art on the walls.  By the time the guy who was working there finished the tattoo he was working on, I had mine picked out.  I was going to get a huge piece that went from my right shoulder blade, over my shoulder, down to my right pec.  The tat I wanted was two dragons intertwined in a fight, with their heads framing a yin/yang symbol on my chest.  A very adventurous piece for a guy with just little tats so far. 

 I told the guy what I wanted, and he grabbed a piece of paper and did a rough sketch of what I wanted.  It looked really cool, and he only wanted a hundred bucks to do it!  I agreed to the deal, and walked over and sat in the chair.  Then the artist said,

“We do outline today – you come back tomorrow and next day for color.” 

 “What?” 

 “It take three days for this tattoo – it too big for one day.” 

 I was crushed – I didn’t HAVE three more days left in the P.I.  I tried to bargain with him –

 “I only have two more days left of liberty – can’t we do it in two?” 

 We negotiated a bit more, but since liberty was secured at 7:00pm, there just wasn’t enough time to do it.  I finally realized that it wasn’t going to happen, so I asked for my money back and walked dejectedly out of the shop.  Looking back on it now, I’m damn glad that things worked the way they did.  I hadn’t even bothered to see if his needles were sterile or anything – that was hepatitis waiting to happen!  Oh well, there was always D’Office, and all the cold beer I could drink just down the street, so off I went.

 When I walked in, there was definitely a party goin’ on!  Guys were drinking them as fast as the bartenders could pour ‘em.  I bellied up to the bar and started to pack a few away as well.  It was already almost 17:00, and we all had to be back on base in two hours!  I ended up drinking with one of my Marine buddies from the Fresno, a guy named Curly.  I don’t know if I ever knew his real name, but “Curly” was good enough for me.  He and I proceeded to drink everything in sight, and as fast as we could. 

 Finally, it was about 18:45, and we realized we needed to get back to the base.  Reluctantly, the two of us headed toward the main gate.  As we headed down Magsaysay, we walked past the shop I had ordered my jacket in earlier that evening, and an idea struck me…Why not get jackets made for my ski buddies back home?  The three of us who always skied together, Paul and Bob Fechtmeister and myself, had taken to calling ourselves “The Swahili Brothers Ski Team” for some weird reason, and what better way to take the joke to an absurd level, than by having jackets made for us?!  I made a quick stop in the shop, and ordered three more jackets – made of blue satin this time, with our names and our Swahili Brothers logo on the back, along with the slogan “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”.  He again promised me they would be done by Saturday, and I paid him $40 apiece for the jackets.  That done, I joined Curly for the stumble back to base.  We were about ten minutes late, but it was small potatoes, as they just waved our drunken asses through the gate.

 Once on base, I thought we would just go back to the ship, because the party was over – WRONG!  Curly decided that the night was still young, and we followed the crowd over to the base club.  Now, I had been in some pretty jam-packed and crazy bars in my day, but nothing had prepared me for the scene inside the Base Club on the Subic Bay Naval Station.  The club was packed wall-to-wall with crazy, drunken sailors and Marines, all jonesing for one more drink.  There were no girls in the bar, since the base had a strict policy about letting the bar girls on base.  It didn’t seem to matter, since everyone had turned their efforts from getting laid to getting as drunk as humanly possible – maybe even more than humanly possible.  I was one of the “even more” candidates, as I slammed drink after drink. 

 Somewhere around 22:00 that night, Curly decided that the base club had too many sailors in it, and not enough Marines, and that we should go over to the club on the Marine side of the base, about five miles away.  That would have been fine, had he wanted to go in a cab.  But, being the Marine he was, Curly decided we should run the five miles to the Marine club.  I was too young/drunk/stupid to argue, so I trotted off with him, running through the tropical night, on the way to a really, incredibly stupid drunk.

 About halfway there, as both of us were about to puke our guts out, cooler heads prevailed.  We flagged down a cab and paid for the rest of the trip.  The scene inside the Marine club was very similar to the one we had just left.  There were drunken Marines all over, and fights were beginning to crop up in the darker corners of the bar.  It was all taken in stride, and everyone pretty much ignored the brawlers, until someone began to get too much of an upper hand, in which case, they would jump in and separate them, then send them to neutral corners for a beer or two.  Whatever works, I guess.  Curly and I continued to pour the liquor down with reckless abandon, and then it hit me. 

 The nasty monkey-on-a-stick I’d eaten earlier outside of D’Office was meeting up with the formaldehyde from the San Miguel, and combined with the nasty orange Mojo and a two-mile run through the jungle, I was beginning to feel a tad bit queasy.  I tried to say something to this effect to Curly, but what ended up coming out was,

 “Hey man, I think I’m gonna…BWAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFF!!!” 

 And I did – all over the bar, the barstools, the carpet and a couple of Marines who were unlucky enough to be standing next to me.  Curly looked at me in disbelief, as the contents of my stomach emptied themselves all over the bar and the floor.  The two Lance Corporals who had been hit by the splashback were now glaring at me and ready to rip my head off, when I was saved by a very quick-thinking Marine.  Curly grabbed my arm and literally yanked me through the crowd and out to the taxi stand, where Marines were waiting in line for cabs to take them back to the Main Base and the ships they were assigned to.  The two of us stood in the back of the line, waiting for a couple of minutes, when I decided that the risk of death from two puked-upon Marines was overpowering my sense of etiquette, and I bulled my way up to the front of the line, pushed a Marine out of the way, and climbed into the waiting cab.  Curly, not knowing what else to do, followed me.  It seemed a bold move at the time, but the Marine who’s cab I’d just stolen, was not a happy man.

 As we climbed into the stolen cab, I felt a hand come through the window and grab my shirt.  I rolled my drunken eyes skyward and saw that the ham-sized fist was attached to a Marine who had to have been pushing 7 feet tall.  He was, without a doubt, one of the largest men I had ever seen in my life – and he was pissed…at ME!  He began to pull me through the window, as Curly yelled at the cabbie,

 “GO GO GO!!!”

 The cabbie hit the gas and screamed off as my shirt gave way, and Corporal King Kong was left standing with a puke-stained half a t-shirt in his hand.  I began to laugh uncontrollably and looked over at Curly who was NOT laughing! 

 “You idiot!  That guy is in my company – he’s going to KILL me tomorrow!” 

 And with that, Curly hauled back and punched me in the mouth.  I was so damn drunk, that I didn’t feel much, I just kind of shook my head and mumbled, “Sorry” and bent my head down. 

 I could feel the fat lip beginning to form and taste a small trickle of blood from a split lip.  As the cab came to a stop in front of the Navy club, the taste of the blood turned my stomach once again.  As Curly paid the cabbie the fare that was due, I opened the door, stepped out, then turned and puked back into the cab and all over the seat.  The cabbie yelled, the guy who was waiting on that cab yelled, and Curly just threw his hands up in disgust and grabbed me by the arm again for our SECOND mad dash of the night through an angry mob.  This time, he led me back to the Fresno, and pointed me toward my berthing area.  I managed to fumble through the darkness and find my rack, where I collapsed, in a drunken, sweaty, stinky, bloody mess, to be awakened only by reveille some four short hours later.  I didn’t know it at the time, but this would be my very last WestPac drunk – at least I had made it a memorable one!

 

Friday, 15JUN90 – Philippines

ñ  Payday - $287.00

ñ  Hung Over!!

ñ  Rained all day – inspection canceled

ñ  Got off at 1400

ñ  Bought sweatshirts & had them embroidered

ñ  Soccer game – won 2-0

ñ  Didn't drink

The weather on the morning of June 15^th, 1990, suited my physical and mental state perfectly.  Outside, it was gray, wet and rainy – inside… I was gray, wet and rainy.  To say that I was hung over would have been the understatement of the year.  I had been God’s Own drunk the night before, and I was paying for it in spades this morning.  It hurt to brush my teeth, it hurt to comb my hair, it hurt to get dressed – Hell, it even took serious effort to breathe!  I can remember very few hangovers in my entire life that were worse than this one.  All I wanted to do was lay in my rack and feel my face melt off of my skull, and my brains pour out my ears.  I was beyond help. 

 Unfortunately for me, the Navy knows no sick days, so I was up and semi-vertical at 07:00, standing in the rain for quarters.  Somehow, I managed to limp my way through the morning, and after eating a small lunch, I began to feel a tad bit more human.  We had payday that afternoon, and I was glad to see the extra flight deck hazard pay still in my check.  I pulled down a princely $287 that day – just enough to pay back the slusher, have a night out on town, and have a little left over for our visit to Hawaii!  I grinned at this little joke, as I knew there was no way in Hell I’d be able to even smell alcohol without puking, let alone drinking any of it!  Since the rain curtailed all of the work we could get done that day, they let us off at 1400 to go hit Olongapo for what would be Duty Section 3’s last day of P.I. liberty.

 Before I could hit the town, however, there was a little matter of one last soccer game to play.  The WestPac ’90 tournament was pretty much over, and the finals were to be held on Saturday.  Before they could officially name the two teams who would be playing, there were two more bracket games to be played.  Evidently, we had missed a game last time we had been in the PI, when we had been forced to leave early to go to Okinawa.  I didn’t know about it, but since we had taken 2^nd place in the first tourney, we had been automatically qualified for the all-deployment tournament.  The game we had missed was our one bracket game to see if we might end up in the final game.  I couldn’t believe it – I mean, we had only won one game (okay, two if you count the forfeit) all deployment, and because of the brackets, and some really quirky luck, we might end up in the finals!  There were four teams left to play , and what had to happen was; the Fresno had to win their first game, and if the team who won the other game in our bracket had a worse record than us, then we would get to go to the final game.  Since there was no team in the tourney with a worse record than ours, we had to hope for something like another forfeit or a no-show to get to the finals.  After I had explained this bizarre scenario to the team, we decided to go kick a little ass, and see if maybe we could somehow back-door our way into winning this entire damn tournament!

 We showed up at the field, which was a muddy mess, and took our positions.  The other team had shown up, which was always a bad sign for us.  The ref blew the whistle, and we kicked it off.  Somehow, through all the mud and slop, we managed to actually win a game!  Beyond winning it, we actually shut out the team we played 2-0!!  It was my crowning achievement as a coach.  When the final whistle blew, we were ecstatic!  There was a real chance that we might end up in the tourney finals!  We decided to wait around and see if both of the teams showed up for the other game – if one of them was a no-show, then we were in!  About five minutes later, the first team showed up.  And then, a couple of minutes later, the second team came around the corner.  We were crushed.  The heady feeling of victory we had been reveling in just a few minutes earlier was replaced with the well-known crush of defeat.  We hung our heads, and began the long, tiresome trek back to the Fresno – knowing all too well the thrill of victory, and how quickly it can be replaced by the agony of defeat.

 After a nice, long, hot shower, I got dressed and headed for town, still feeling like the North end of a South-bound mule, but determined not to miss my last visit to Olongapo City.  I followed the crowd down the pier and onto the base.  We walked past the restaurant and base club, past the exchange and the convenience store, past the ball fields, past the hospital, past the on-base money exchange booths, past the guard shack.  We all walked kind of slowly, just drinking it all in, knowing this would probably be the last time many of us got to see the Philippines.  As we walked out of the Main Gate, and across Shit River one last time, we looked forward to getting to our favorite bars and saying goodbye to the people we’d all come to know and love over the past six months. 

 There were several “Goodbye Fresno” parties going on at different bars, and I made a stop in at a couple of them.  Drinking still didn’t seem like a good idea, so I pretty much just popped in for a quick “Hi” and “Goodbye”, then went on to the next one.  I did make a stop at the store that was making my WestPac jacket, and my ski jackets and checked up on their progress.  They had started them, and promised they would be done by tomorrow, so I left them to their business and walked down the road to the next t-shirt shop.  I had bought three sweatshirts from the Fresno’s ship’s store and I had them embroidered with the name and number of each of the three Swahili Brothers.  I thought that since we were getting the jackets anyway, we might as well have sweatshirts to go with it – if we were going to be dumb anyway, might as well go whole hog, right?  It cost me about fifteen bucks to get them embroidered, and they were done in just a few minutes.  I collected my sweatshirts, put them in a bag under my arm, and walked on toward D’Office and the one place I really wanted to say goodbye to.

 As I walked down Magsaysay toward D'Office one last time, I couldn’t help but think of all the time, money and sobriety I’d wasted on this one street!  There was Cal Jams – the bar I’d been suckered out of $20 in (and got back later), and there was Metallica – a heavy metal bar I drank in when I felt like hanging out with my metalhead buddies..  I looked up the street toward Bogart’s Bull Pen/The Red River Saloon – the home of the infamous mechanical bull.  There also was the fake Hard Rock Café, home of the worst hamburger known to man.  I looked up at the signs for The Billboard Jazz Club, The Brown Fox, Florida, Rolling Stone, Woodstock and dozens of other bars, pool halls and massage parlors up and down the street.  I turned the corner, and walked past The Firehouse and D’Office, and crossed onto Gordon Avenue, where I had discovered clubs like T’s Tavern and The Body Shop.  It all brought back memories of some of the wildest, craziest nights I would ever have.  It was kind of hard to believe that I’d be leaving all of this and would never see anything quite like it again.  Once we got back to the States, the partying would never be quite so wild, quite so dangerous, and quite so fun.  These were all things I didn’t know at the time, of course, but I had an idea that I had seen something that most guys my age never got to see, and I appreciated that.  I shrugged off the feelings of nostalgia, turned around and walked back down the little side street that led to D’Office.

 When I walked into my favorite haunt, I found it full of Fresno sailors.  Everyone was drinking and dancing and having a good time.  The bar girls were busy collecting addresses and giving out pictures of themselves to their favorite guys.  They’d promise to write and we’d do the same, but everyone knew this was pretty much the end of the road.  After a six-month romance, all bets were off once we hit U.S. soil.  My honeyko, Mercy, was waiting behind the bar for me.  She handed me a rum and coke, but I politely handed it back and asked for just a coke.  I tried to explain about the hangover, but she interrupted me and started to ask me why I hadn’t asked her for her address.  As I stammered for an explanation, she handed me her picture with her address on the back and told me to write.  She then told me that she loved me and wanted me to take her back to the base with me.  She said that we should get married because she was pregnant... 

 I was shocked at first – but without the benefit of the usual alcohol-induced haze, I realized that she was just lying to get me to agree to take her with me.  Those girls that were the most desperate to get to the States were trying anything and everything they could to get out of the P.I. while the getting was good.  Most of them had seen the writing on the wall – the early securing of liberty, the increased rebel rhetoric, the political upheavals.  They knew good and well that the Navy would soon be gone, and that their chance at a better life in the U.S. would be gone with it. Several of the girls got lucky, got married and got to the U.S. – but none of them through me.  When Mercy started into her spiel, I told her to forget it because I had a girlfriend back home (and for once, I wasn’t lying) and that Mercy and I could never be together.  She cried, and acted upset, but I had no time for games.  I gave her a hug goodbye, hugged the Mama-San goodbye, then waved to the rest of the staff and walked out of D’Office once and for all.

Magsaysay Boulevard in Olongapo City during daylight hours - 1990

 I slowly made my way back to the base, checking out all of the souvenir shops, music stores, leather goods stores and clothing shops on the way.  I took some time to let the reality of the place just kind of soak in.  I wanted to remember everything about my time in the Philippines – it was a place I would be telling stories about for the rest of my life, so I wanted to memorize the sights, the sounds and even the smells.  The din of the smoky trikes and jeepneys drown out most everything, as broken mufflers and frantically bleating horns added to the cacophony.  The monkey meat vendors were busily preparing their monkey-on-a-stick for hungry sailors, and the beggars and street kids were already plying the half-drunk crowds for a few spare pesos.  I just walked and watched as life on Magsaysay went on around me.  All too soon, I was back at the bridge across Shit River.  I turned and took one last look back at Olongapo, and wished her a silent “Goodbye” and “Good Luck”, then walked across the bridge, flashed my ID card, and began the mile long journey across the base to the Frez.  It was a quiet walk by myself, but an enjoyable one.  I had seen some pretty memorable things during my time in the Philippines and made enough memories to last a lifetime.  I had lost my virginity here, and had my eyes opened to the realities of the world.  I had definitely, as they say, “come a boy and left a man”.  It was hard to leave, but the thought of how soon we would be back Stateside tempered the sadness.  I walked up the gangplank, saluted the Officer Of The Deck, and walked on board the Fresno.  I wound my way down to my berthing area, stowed my bag of sweatshirts, stripped down to my skivvies, then crawled into my rack and let sleep overtake me as my memories gave way to dreams of some of the greatest times of my young life. 

 

Saturday, 16JUN90 – Philippines (Duty)

ñ  Mail call – 1 from Dad, 1 from Janet

ñ  12-1600 POOW

ñ  Got jackets back

ñ  Mailed boxes home

ñ  Read “City Of The Dead”

One final duty day in the Philippines.  It was a weird sort of day – everyone seemed to be moving a little slower, knowing that this would be the last night we would spend in a port outside of U.S. waters.  After nearly six months of wild, crazy, drunken debauchery it was time to begin the transition back into normal life.  We spent the workday getting ready to get underway the next morning for a two weeks’ steam to Hawaii.  We had pretty much perfected the day before underway routine during deployment, so it was a lot less harried and confusing as it had been just a couple of months earlier.  So much so that, by noon, we were ready to go.  They gave the guys who didn’t have duty liberty call, and the rest of us settled in for the rest of the day and wrote some last letters home.

 The last piece of business I had to attend to before we left the P.I. was getting my jackets back.  I had given Jon Grace the last of the money I owed on them and asked him to go pick them up for me.  He left the ship right after noon, and promised he’d be right back with my jackets.  I pretty much knew that I wouldn’t see him again until off-base liberty was secured, but I wasn’t too worried, just as long as he had my jackets.  After Jon was off, I headed over to the Post Office and talked to Scotty Bale for a bit.  He handed me my mail – a letter from my Dad, and one from Janet.  Both letters were great – Dad’s just gave me the final details on Hawaii – when their flight came in, what hotel they were staying in and all of that.  I was excited thinking that I’d be seeing he and Matt in just a couple of weeks…it meant that the end was almost in sight! 

 The letter from Janet was great as well.  She thanked me again for all the great stuff I’d sent her from Thailand and Hong Kong and told me how much she was looking forward to seeing me after I got out.  Since she was now at home for the summer, she made sure she gave me her folks' phone number so that I could call her when we got to Hawaii.  Yet another reason to look forward to Pearl Harbor!  These next two weeks just couldn’t go by fast enough.

 After reading my mail, and standing a 12-1600 watch, I headed down to the armory and packed up a couple of boxes of my stuff to send home.  Somehow, I had managed to accumulate quite a bit of stuff, and there wasn’t a whole lot of room to get it home in the back of Dad’s Ramcharger.  I put together a couple of boxes, taped them up, and took them up to PCSN Bale to get shipped back stateside.  That finished, I went down to the berthing area to watch a little TV and wait for Grace to get back with my jackets.  I fell asleep before he got there. 

 Jon came back to the ship around 22:00 that night, stumbling drunk.  Evidently, he had finished up his P.I. adventure with more than a couple drinks in the base club!  All was forgiven, however, when he handed me two big bags with all four of my jackets inside.  I thanked him and was about to offer him twenty bucks for his trouble when he told me that he had spent my change at the bar.  I should have had about thirty bucks left, too!  Oh well – at least he brought them back, I thought.  I put the bags in my locker and went to bed.  I didn’t even look at them closely until the next day.  It didn’t really matter though, because there wasn’t anything I could have done about them anyway.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE:  P.I. TO HAWAII – HOMEWARD BOUND

 

Sunday, 17JUN90

ñ  0400 Reveille

ñ  Got underway

ñ  Did S-1R on SRBOCS

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Went through San Bernardino Straits

ñ  Man Overboard & Abandon Ship drills

ñ  Mom's Birthday

 They held reveille at 0400 on the 17^th, as we got underway.  They kept us busy with man overboard and abandon ship drills until about lunchtime, when they finally called Holiday Routine and gave us the rest of the day off.  I headed down to the berthing area to write a letter to my Mom since it was her birthday, and to check out my new jackets.  I dashed off a quick note, then got out the jackets.  I knew that I had the coolest cruise jacket ever and couldn’t wait to check out the masterpiece I’d designed. 

GMG3 Peterson's WestPac jacket (back) - 1990

 As I unfolded the jacket, I realized that something was terribly amiss – there was no embroidery on one side of the front of the jacket!  I opened it all the way up and realized that they hadn’t finished the job!  They had the back and the sleeves done, but all they had finished on the front was the “Guns of Steel, Rounds of Brass..” saying and the crossed cannons.  No King Neptune, no Wyoming flag, no “GMG3 Peterson”.  There was a light white chalk outline where they were supposed to be, but evidently, they had run out of time, and my jackets weren’t done when Jon picked them up.  I was pissed – I had paid full price for them and had a half-finished product!  I quickly tore open the other bag and laid out my ski jackets.  Each of them was unfinished as well.  They had the wrong flags on the jackets, and had the name misspelled on one of them!  I was livid!  It’s probably a good thing we were so far away from Subic Bay, because I would have stormed back to the shop and demanded my money back!!  In my fit of rage, I sat down and fired off an angry letter to the shop that had made my jackets – outlining the work I had paid for that hadn’t been completed, and demanding my money back.  Ooo – I was pissed!  I put the letter in my rack to mail in the morning, put the jackets back in their bags and stuffed them into my locker.  I then decided to go to bed, read a book and try to calm down a bit.  Did I mention that I was pissed?  Well, I was.

 

Monday, 18JUN90

ñ  Secured for sea & rigged for heavy weather

ñ  .50 cal gun shoot – Marines only

ñ  Did Q-1R on Pyro Lockers

ñ  Slept from 6pm – 7am

 The next morning, I was still mad, but reality hit me between the eyes.  Reality in the person of GMG1 Williansen.  Willie said,

 “What you gonna do, Pete?  Buy a plane ticket back to the P.I. to get back your thirty bucks?” 

I stammered and sputtered, and then realized that he was right – there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.  We had left the P.I., never to return, and I had already paid for the jackets.  Jon didn’t look at them when he picked them up, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have known what they were supposed to look like, so I was stuck.  If I had bought them on our last visit, I could have ensured the finished product, but since I had procrastinated, I was stuck with what I got.  I swallowed a big chunk of humble pie, put the jackets away, and figured that I’d get someone to help put the right flags on the right ski jackets when we got back to the states.  My ski partners were brothers, and their mother was a seamstress, so she could probably do it.  I was still mad, but I had been forced to learn that there are just some things you can’t control… Dammit.

 

Tuesday, 19JUN90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  GQ Drills

ñ  Removed locker from deck office

ñ  Watched “The Great Escape”

ñ  BS'd with Bale, Ferraro & Babiczs until 3am

 

Wednesday, 20JUN90

ñ  Rained this morning

ñ  Changed battle lantern batteries

ñ  Moved Reaction Force locker into windtunnel

ñ  Watched “In Country”

ñ  Read all of Janet's letters

ñ  Slept in armory

 

Thursday, 21JUN90

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Did pre-fire checks

ñ  Mt. 32 broke – worked until 2000 to fix it

ñ  Set clocks ahead 1 hr

ñ  Gunnery brief

ñ  Passed Guam

 

Friday, 22JUN90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing

ñ  3” 50 shoot – both mounts worked

ñ  GQ Drills

ñ  Finished word find book

ñ  Watched “Crocodile Dundee”

ñ  Only 3 weeks left!

 As that first week at sea slipped away, and we got closer to Hawaii, things began to slip into that weird “at sea time”.  Days just sort of blended into one another, and time became a very relative thing – just a way of telling which watch was on duty, really.  You got up, ate, worked, ate, worked some more, ate, watched TV, slept, then got up and ate again.  Day in, day out.  Time just sort of floated by when you were at sea.  During that first week, we did a couple of GQ drills, did a couple of helo landings, and some various and assorted other training.  Everyone kind of went through it half-heartedly, knowing that it really didn’t matter, because we would be home in less than three short weeks.  The feelings of apathy and lethargy were rampant throughout the ship’s crew.  Despite the C.O.’s best efforts to keep us busy, the next fifteen days absolutely crawled by.  They tried to throw all kinds of training and GQ drills and every other kind of distraction they could think of, but everybody knew that in just two more weeks we would be back in the U.S., and ten days after that – we’d be HOME!! 

 We did do a couple of gunnery exercises – shot the .50 cal machine guns a couple of times and shot the big guns a couple of times.  Once again, however, I didn’t get a chance to fire the .50 cals.  I was quickly running out of time now – we were only three weeks away from the states, and away from my release from Active Duty, and I still hadn’t had the chance to shoot the big machine guns!  I was starting to get a bit antsy now – and I swore that next time we did a GUNEX (if there was a next time) I was going to shoot!  Our big guns kind of worked during the first exercise – only one of them broke this time!  We spent all night fixing it, and when time came a couple of days later to shoot them again, both worked perfectly!  Will wonders never cease!

 I tried to keep my mind off our upcoming port visit to Hawaii, and the chance to see my Dad again, so during our off time, I wrote a lot of letters, played cards, read books and watched movies.  One night, I sat in the armory until 3am talking with PCSN Hale, FN Ferrara and FN Babiczs.  Anything to keep ourselves occupied.  We were SO ready to go home – even the guys who had joined the crew during WestPac were anxious to get back to Long Beach.  I identified with them, because that was the exact same way I had felt in ’88 when I had come aboard during Pac.  We managed to get through the first seven days without incident.  The second week, things started to get a little chippy.

 

Saturday, 23JUN90

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Towed trimaran for GUNEX

ñ  Had re-up meeting with NC1

ñ  Did M-9R Training on T.V.

ñ  Did Berthing Egress Drills

ñ  Me & Latch polished 'em off in armory

 The second week started off on Saturday, June23^rd, with NC1 Nerton giving me my obligatory Reenlistment Interview.  He tried his best to get me to re-enlist, but I stuck to my guns and politely refused.  It was just a big joke, because the contract I had enlisted under actually forbade me to reenlist, and I was all too happy to oblige.  At that point in time, the LAST thing in the world I wanted to do was to reenlist in the Navy!  Just send me home and let me go! 

 That night, I was playing cards in the MR shop with all of my redneck buddies when one of the Marines, Corporal Letcholais – a Cajun from Louisiana, walked in with a couple of beers in his hand.  He had managed to smuggle a couple of nasty San Miguels on board when we were in the P.I. and he was afraid of getting caught with them.  I was all too happy to help him dispose of the evidence, so I pitched in and chugged a beer with him.  It was actually a pretty good tasting beer (for San Miguel) and it helped put a cap on a decidedly “un-Navy” day.  Not only did I NOT want to reenlist, I was a rule-breaker as well! 

 

Sunday, 24JUN90

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Slept in armory until 10:30

ñ  Hairy Buffalo

ñ  Watched movies all day

ñ  Read “And The Devil Will Drag You Under”

ñ  Set clocks ahead 1 hr.

 Sunday was pretty cool – we had Holiday Routine, and they threw a Hairy Buffalo on the flight deck.  It was a good barbecue, and was enjoyed by all – Hell, anything was better than working at this point!  We then sat and watched movies the rest of the day and just basically wasted a day.  It was very nice. 

 

Monday, 25JUN90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Grace & I got into it at Quarters

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing

ñ  Did all my weeklies

ñ  Helped Boniola on his ESWS

ñ  Cleaned my locker out – started packing

 Monday morning threw us right back into the fray.  At quarters that morning, we were sitting there waiting for the Officers to come down from their morning meeting and give us our day’s orders.  As usual, I was sitting on one of the big shipping crates on the foc’sle, and as usual, Jon Grace was standing there giving me a hard time.  He seemed to take great pleasure in poking fun at me every morning and trying to get under my skin.  For the most part, he was easy to ignore, but for some reason that morning, I decided that I had had enough!  Six months of constant chipping was just too much for me to take, and as he started in with his put downs and derogatory comments at my expense, I snapped.  

 I came down off the top of the crate swinging.  I connected with one good roundhouse to the jaw, and was winding up for the second, when Will and Muna jumped in and stopped me.  Grace just kind of stood there and stared at me in disbelief.  His shock didn’t last long however, as he quickly took advantage of the fact that I was being held back by Will and Luna.  Jon rared back and let fly with a right fist of his own and got me right in the mouth.  My head snapped back, and as I came forward, Will and Muna let go, and I lunged at Jon.  I punched him again, and grabbed him by the throat, trying to choke him down.  At this point, the majority of First Division, who had been watching silently, decided to help out, and dog piled on top of us.  The general dislike for Grace was evident, as more than one fist and/or foot came flying out of the mass in his general direction.  I was quickly pulled away from the melee and sent back inside the superstructure to calm down and get it together.  I have no idea what happened topside, but I know I stormed around the mess decks, then down to our berthing area and back to the armory in an attempt to calm down a bit. 

 It worked a little, because twenty minutes later, I was working with Jon doing a P.M.S. check on the armory sprinkler system.  Neither of us ever said a word about what happened that morning, and I never heard from any of my superiors either.  I guess they just figured that I had taken more than my fair share, and that Jon deserved what he got.  The rest of Monday went smoothly, and I began to clean out my lockers in preparation for the end of my time onboard the Frez.  What a glorious ending to an otherwise crappy day.

 

Tuesday, 26JUN90

ñ  Chopped to 3^rd Fleet

ñ  Painted 02 Level

ñ  Grace got hit by test casting – 8 stitches

ñ  Lusher found pigeon thrower

ñ  Taped “Damn Yankees”

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

 Tuesday was still a bit tense around the Fresno.  We had been released from our Deployment assignment and reassigned to the Third Fleet.  We were now under the direct control of CINCPAC in Pearl Harbor – a Stateside command for a Stateside-bound ship.  A small step towards home it would seem, but to all of us on the Frez, it was a huge moment, and when they passed the word that we had been “Chopped” to the Third Fleet, a huge cheer went up. 

 By this time, Jim Lusher was an established member of Third Division, and was working alongside us every day.  He was a great guy to have around and made the days a little easier to deal with.  His sense of humor and his foul mouth made me laugh, and any reason to laugh made things that much easier to deal with. 

 Jon Grace found another reason to hate GMG3 Willis on Tuesday as well.  Will had been behind several bonehead accidents onboard the Frez , but this one was a doozy.  His new screw-up involved a test casting and Jon’s cheekbone.  Will and Grace were doing a PMS check on the Ready Service Room – the area where we kept our 3”50 shells by the gun mounts, up on the O3 level.  Will was supposed to put a three-pound brass test casting into the sprinkler valve, then charge the system and see if the pressure was at the correct level.  Jon was supposed to monitor the gauge and tell Will when to shut the water off. 

 Well, Will put the casting into place, Jon took his place in front of the gauge and told Will to turn in on.  Will did, and when that high-pressure water hit the test casting, it blew it out of the system!  Evidently, he hadn’t tightened the casting, and when the pressurized water hit it, it blew out and sent it hurtling through the air – and directly into Jon’s face.  Jon went down like a ton of lead, as high-pressure seawater flooded the passageway directly behind the Captain’s stateroom.  To his credit, I guess, Will didn’t waste much time turning off the water, but by then the damage had been done.  Grace lay in a puddle of seawater and blood with a huge cut in his cheek, and there was two inches of standing water in the passageway.  As Will tried in vain to find something besides himself to blame it on, Jon came to and headed directly for Sick Bay, where he got eight stitches in his face.

 Will tried for the next week to find a way to make that little incident NOT his fault, but we had long since given up on believing him.  We knew the truth behind his gross ineptitude, and our repeated attempts to relieve him of any important duties had failed us.  Only this time, Jon had the stitches to show for it.  I don’t know if Will got any sort of write-up for it, but I do know that his name was removed from all but the most basic PMS checks...again...and he never again worked one-on-one with Jon Grace.

 

Wednesday, 27JUN90

ñ  Set Clocks back 1 hr

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Painted out 01 & 02 levels

ñ  Worked through lunch

ñ  Field dayed armory & amplidyne room

ñ  Watched “Return To Snowy River”

 We spent the next day field-daying our below-deck spaces and painting out all of our topside spaces in preparation for our return to the States and for the Tiger Cruise.  Nothing too exciting, just painting and cleaning – woo haa. 

 

Thursday, 28JUN90 A

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Commodore came aboard

ñ  Found out how to work microfiche viewer

ñ  Engineering awards ceremony

ñ  Crossed Date Line

 

Thursday, 28JUN90 B

ñ  Set clocks back 24 hrs

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Half-Day

ñ  Fired 9mm's with Marines

ñ  Painted target barrel

ñ  Watched Mad Max series in armory

ñ  2 weeks left!

 The day after that, Thursday, was an interesting day…so interesting in fact, that we did it twice!  Actually, we crossed the International Date Line on this day, and instead of skipping a day like we had on the way out, we repeated the same day twice.  The first 28^th was pretty boring – we did some helo landings, and the Commodore from CINCPAC came aboard for an inspection.  We had an awards ceremony for the Engineering department, and just general stuff like that.  The second 28^th was a little more exciting, as I got to fire the 9mm pistols with the Marines off the fantail of the ship.  We shot at trash and targets that they threw into the ocean, and I’m proud to say that I out-shot most of the Marines, even though I’d never fired one of their 9mm Barettas before.  I guess the countless hours that Dad and I spent target shooting when I was a kid paid off.  It was a lot of fun, and helped the day go by quickly.  I spent that evening in the armory with PCSN Bale and a couple of other guys, as we watched all three movies from the “Mad Max” series on Bale’s portable TV.  We hooked the sound through my new stereo, and it was Theater Sound onboard the Fresno for a night!  A nice distraction from the normal SiteTV in the berthing area

 

Friday, 29JUN90

ñ  Payday - $199.00

ñ  Set clocks ahead 1 hr

ñ  Did M-4R on SRBOCS

ñ  Finished discharge physical

ñ  .50 Cal shoot – Grace & Lusher shot

ñ  1^st LT threw my boondocker overboard

 Friday the 29^th was another good day.  We were just two days away from Hawaii, and two weeks away from home.  It was payday, and we had a .50 cal exercise scheduled.  I knew that this would be my day to finally shoot the .50, and I was excited about it!  I was also scheduled to get my discharge physical in sick bay that morning – I was even more excited about THAT than I was the .50 cal fire!  After breakfast and quarters, I headed right down to see Doc, and got my physical taken care of.  They found no signs of any injury or disease (thank God) and gave me a clean bill of health and an OK to be released from Active Duty.  I thanked Doc, shook his hand and headed back to the armory, knowing that I was ready to become a civilian again, so they could throw whatever they wanted at me – I was an official “short timer” now!

 Short Timers were guys who were close to getting off of active duty.  When you hit about a month to go, you started calling yourself a Short Timer, and the jokes began.  Things like,

 “I’m so short, I’m afraid to call home, because I might answer the phone” and

 “I’m so short, I have to climb a ladder to tie my shoes.” 

 Things like this became daily for Short Timers.  Another tradition of Short Timers was a Short Timer’s chain.  You would tie together things like paper clips, or beer tabs or knots on a rope to symbolize how many months you had left on active duty.  As every month passed, you would take down one of your links.  My Short Timer’s Chain was a belt of used .50 cal ammo.  I started with twelve links a year before I was out and took down one shell with each passing month.  I was down to my last shell now – and I decided to put up seven shells on my last week and take down one a day to help emphasize the importance of getting out of active duty.  My Short Timer’s Chain provided endless hours of dreaming and hoping as I watched it shrink over the passing months. 

When we were getting ready for the .50 cal shoot that day, I made it clear to everyone that I would be shooting at least one of the guns.  Everyone seemed to agree with me and, as we stood on the doghouse where the mount was, I was ready to go.  I had the gun cleaned, and a box of ammo out and ready to load and fire.  Our First Lieutenant, LT McInierney, came back to watch the exercise. 

He jumped up on the doghouse with us as we got ready to throw the target (a red-painted plastic barrel) overboard, to blast into oblivion.  Just before we were ready to begin, LT McInierney looked down at my shoes. 

“Jesus Christ, Peterson - what the Hell happened to your boondockers?” 

I looked at my shoes – the leather was completely worn off of the toes, and the steel was shining through, courtesy of crawling around the non-skid during the Shellback Initiation.  They were completely trashed, but I was two weeks from getting out of the Navy, and the last thing I wanted was to have to buy another pair of boondockers.  I just kind of laughed and told LT McInierney as much, and then turned to get the target to throw overboard.  He hollered for me again,

“Hey Pete – let me see one of those boondockers, I want to see how bad it really is!” 

Without thinking, I reached down, untied my right boot and handed it to him.  The First Lieutenant took it in his hand, looked at it, then rared back and let it fly.  He threw my shoe OVERBOARD!  I couldn’t believe it!

 “WHAT THE FUCK!” I yelled – not caring that he was an officer,“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR…SIR?!?!?” 

I regained my military bearing long enough to say “Sir” then stood there looking at him.  He just chuckled and said,

“Now you HAVE to buy a new pair.”

And he turned back to the exercise.  I stood there in disbelief – not only did I have no shoes, but we were two days from port, and I would have to drop at least $50 bucks on a new pair of boondockers for TEN days!  I was mad – and to top it all off, now that I didn’t have two steel-toes shoes, I couldn’t be in the gunnery exercise!  By throwing my dilapidated boondocker overboard, the First Lieutenant had ruined my one chance at firing the .50 cals!  I was so mad I was literally seeing red.  I stormed off the doghouse, across the flight deck, and back toward the wind tunnel as I heard them open fire.  I looked back to see Grace and Lusher firing away at the target.  Lusher had been in the division just a couple of weeks, and he was shooting the .50’s!  I still hadn’t shot them!  Damn First Lieutenant anyway!  I stormed down to the berthing area, grabbed my tennis shoes, put them on, and got back to the fantail just in time to help police up the spent brass and clean the .50.  I didn’t talk to any one for the rest of the day.  That one still chaps my ass!

 

Saturday, 30JUN90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Set clocks ahead 1 hr

ñ  Filled out discharge papers

ñ  Flight Qtrs – no landings

ñ  Finished letter to Janet

ñ  Wrote to Paul & Jon

ñ  Cleaned out locker

The next morning – Saturday the 30^th, I woke up still in a foul mood.  It was made a bit lighter by Jon Grace, as he offered me the use of his spare pair of jungle boots until the end of Pac.  They weren’t steel-toed, and weren’t approved for shipboard use, but they were black and leather, and at this point I really didn’t care.  I thanked him for their use, put them on and stormed up to quarters to begin our last day at sea before we got to Hawaii.  At least I’d get to see my Dad the next day, I thought. 

 The rest of the 30^th went fairly well – I filled out all of my official discharge papers and finished cleaning out my lockers of all but the bare essentials for my last week on the Fresno.  I stowed all of my gear in the armory, and then took some time to write some letters, then go topside to watch the Hawaiian Islands slowly come into sight.  It was a welcome sight – U.S. soil at last!  It had been a long time coming, and we were one crew who was more than ready to get back home – even if it was Hawaii!

 

JUN90:  Deployment day 141-170        Underway – 22 days     In Port – 9 days

 

CHAPTER FIFTY:  HAWAI’I – THREE DAYS IN PARADISE

Sunday, 1JUL90 - Hawai'i

ñ  Pulled in at 1700

ñ  Ate pizza for dinner

ñ  Went to airport with Grace & picked up Matt & Dad

ñ  Stayed at Outrigger West in Waikiki

Talk about your morale busters – we sailed around the islands until almost 17:00 that afternoon, waiting to pull into the pier at Pearl Harbor!  I don’t know what the holdup was, I imagine that we were waiting for someone to get underway so we could have an empty slip, but whatever caused it, that last day at sea was interminably long.  We spent the time waiting just talking with one another and sharing some stories from the past six months.  Jon Grace was busy telling the stories about the golf course beating I’d been given in Japan, and then he brought up the whole “stealing my honeyko in the P.I.” story.  Ahhhh – I had COMPLETELY forgotten about that – my ultimate revenge!  It was time to finally close the trap I’d laid out so many months ago! 

 If you’ll remember from earlier, Jon had bragged about stealing my P.I. honeyko, but the one he’d stolen was the same gal who’d given me the clap in ’88!  I hadn’t told him anything about that, and my plan was to wait until we got to Hawai'i to spring this little nugget on him.  My idea was to tell him about her, then make him have to go get a Conscience Check while we were in port in Pearl.  If he did have the clap, then it should be cleared up in ten days with antibiotics – just in time to get back to the States disease-free!  I could have kept the secret to myself and let him give his wife the clap, but I just wanted to see him sweat, not get killed!  The kicker was, that I had the ship’s new doc in on it with me.  I had paid him off with a few beers in the PI in exchange for a guaranteed positive on Jon’s Conscience Check.  Ahhh – a scheming little devil was I!

 As Jon finished telling his hilarious tales at my expense, I cleared my throat and spilled the beans. 

 “Ummm, Jon, you remember the day you were making fun of me because you thought you could steal girls from me in the States AND overseas?” 

 “Yeah” 

 “And I told you that I didn’t get mad, I got even” 

 “Yeah?” 

 “Well I think I just got even.” 

 And with that lead-in, I proceeded to tell him the story about catching the clap from his honeyko in 1988.  His face turned a lovely shade of white as I finished my story. 

 “Oh Shit!” he said. 

 Evidently, he hadn’t been feeling quite right “down there” and was wondering what the Hell it could be.  I laughed at him and told him

 “There you go – NOW we’re even!” 

 Jon made a beeline for Sick Bay and signed up for a Conscience Check the next day! 

 The Conscience Check was a standard part of Navy Life when coming home from a deployment.  It was standard practice for a ship’s medical crew to give free STD checks to any of the ship’s crew who wanted one.  The reason they did it in Hawaii was that the standard antibiotic cure took about a week to work, and Hawaii was ten days’ sail from the States.  That way, when the married guys got back to the wives they hadn’t seen in six months, they wouldn’t be bringing home any unwanted present from a Filipino whorehouse (or Thai or Japanese or…).  Morality be damned – the Conscience Check probably saved more Navy marriages than any counseling program ever invented!  I couldn’t wait to find out how Jon would do with HIS check the next day – I guess it was the sadist in me coming out when I hoped that his test would come back positive – for real!  It’d serve that pompous jerk right!

 As we got closer and closer to Pearl Harbor that afternoon, we started to get more and more excited about this final port visit.  Many of us had family flying into the Honolulu airport to go on the Tiger Cruise, and we were anxious to get there to meet their planes.  Dad and Matt weren’t scheduled to land until around 21:00 that night, so I wasn’t worried about being late.  I was more worried about finding my way to the airport from the base. 

 When we finally sailed into the Pearl Harbor Naval Station, the thoughts ran through my mind just as they had in ’88, about what it must have been like on December 7^th, 1941.  We saluted as we passed the USS Arizona Memorial, and watched the mooring buoys go past that were painted with the names of the other ships lost that day.  I don’t think that any US Navy sailor can steam into Pearl Harbor without that same feeling of loss and humility that I had.  It was a very somber trip from the breakwater to the pier.

 Once we were tied up and secured, they passed the word for liberty call.  By now, it was just after 17:00.  I was going to call Janet and say hello, but with the time difference, it would have been around 21:00 at night in Wyoming, so I decided to wait one more day, even though I was bursting at the seams.  I decided that I’d waited six months to talk to my girlfriend, so what was another day?  I put the phone card back in my wallet, and found my way off base to get something to eat before I went to the airport to get Dad and Matt.  Before I got too far, Jon Grace caught me and asked if I wanted to go over to the base exchange and check it out.  I had some time to kill, so I agreed. 

 The Pearl Harbor Base Exchange was about the same as any other we’d been in – maybe a little bigger, but essentially the same.  We did, however, decide to make one purchase.  Since both Jon and I had bought stereo systems in Japan, we went over to the Electronics department and checked out the surround sound systems.  They had a model on sale for around $100, so we both picked up a surround sound amp and speakers.  Our stereo systems were now complete – Kenwood components, Bose speakers and a full surround sound system.  I couldn’t wait to get it all set up to check it out!  We took our boxes to the ship, then went back to the shuttle bus stand and caught the next one to Waikiki Beach. 

 Waikiki looked the same as it had in ’88, right down to the same Pizza Hut I’d eaten in last time.  We couldn’t resist the temptation of real American pizza, so we went in and ordered up.  As anticipated, it was INCREDIBLE!! After a quick bite, and a short stroll around Waikiki staring at the hotties, it was time to head to the airport.  Okay, it was about two hours too early, but I was excited to see Dad and Matt. 

 Jon tagged along, so he and I flagged down a cab to the airport and got there around 19:00 or so.  We still had a while to wait so we parked ourselves at the airport bar and ordered a drink.  I didn’t even stop to realize that we were in the U.S. again, and the drinking age was 21, but the bartender didn’t ask, and we didn’t volunteer the information.  He brought us our drinks, took our money and went about his merry way.  I realized, at that precise instant, that if I ACTED like I knew what I was doing, most people would never question me!  A very powerful discovery for a 19-year old kid with a serious taste for booze! 

 Jon and I sat and drank for a couple of hours with an officer from one of the other ships in our battle group.  His commission expired the next day, and instead of extending his service until we got back to the states, he was taking the early out and flying home from Honolulu.  It was kind of interesting, because the day I was actually supposed to get off of active duty, July 11^th, was the day BEFORE we were scheduled to get home from WestPac.  I had gone ahead and extended my enlistment for one day so that I could sail all the way home with the Frez, and let my Dad and brother come on the Tiger Cruise.  If I wouldn't have done that, I’d have been flying home with that officer.  I felt a tinge of regret as I saw him get on board his plane home, but when I saw my Dad and my brother get off the plane at the next gate, I was glad I’d decided to stay.

 All of the regret was forgotten as I saw Dad and Matt walk off their plane.  I hadn’t seen them since the Christmas before, and it had been a long seven months since.  We hugged, and I introduced them to Jon, then we went down and got their bags from baggage claim.  The next stop was the rental car booth, where Dad picked up a car, and drove us back to Waikiki where he and Matt had reserved a room.  They were to stay at the Outrigger West on Waikiki that night, since the official check-in day for the Tigers wasn’t until tomorrow.  Jon went back to the hotel with us, and we all sat and talked for quite a while.  Matt soon fell asleep, and Jon and I decided that we should go find some beers for Dad and the two of us. 

 We set out in search of an open package store or bar that would sell to us.  Unfortunately, by the time we went looking, most of the regular stores were closed.  We tried to get one of the bars to sell us a six-pack, but they actually asked us for I.D.!  So much for the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy we’d learned in the airport bar!  An hour after we left, we came back to the room empty-handed.  It was an odd feeling to be in port and not be able to find any booze.  Welcome back to the US, I guess.  Jon soon left and caught a cab back to the base, while Dad and I stayed up talking for a while longer.  One of the things I remember most about the whole time in the room was the fact that, while he was with us, Jon never once stopped looking at himself in the full-length mirrors on the closet doors.  Once he had left the room, Dad said,

“That guy’s pretty proud of himself, ain’t he?”  

 I knew he had seen the same thing I had – we had a good laugh at Jon’s vanity, and finally turned in and caught some sleep.  It had been a long flight for them, and an exciting day for me – we were back in the States, and Dad and Matt were here – the end was so close, I could almost taste it!

 

Monday, 2JUL90 - Hawai'i

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Took Special Libs

ñ  Went to Arizona Memorial

ñ  Spent Afternoon on Waikiki Beach

ñ  Drove around island

ñ  Went to base club w/ Dad

Even though it was the last port visit of WestPac, Pearl Harbor was designated a working port.  We had to do our jobs and work instead of spending three days laying on a beach somewhere.  I had put in for “special liberty” since Dad and Matt were here, but nobody had told me if it had been approved or not before we got there.  Thinking that I had to work, I left Matt and Dad at the hotel to check out, and I headed to the base in time to make quarters.  I got there right on time, and by the time I had finished with quarters and taking magazine temperatures, they told me that my Special Liberty chit had been approved, and since my non-duty status had been approved earlier, I didnt' even HAVE to file for a Special Liberty chit. I could just leave to spend the day with my Dad.  I was happy that I got to go, but pissed that they had been so disorganized that they couldn’t have told me BEFORE I came all the way back!  That’s the Navy for ya, I guess.  

Before I left the ship, I made a special effort to go find Jon Grace and find out how his Conscience Check had gone.  I found him in the armory, looking like he’d just lost his puppy. 

 “How’d it go?” I asked. 

 “Shitty – I had the damn clap!” 

 I tried hard to conceal my laughter and I managed a weak “aw, I’m sorry man” 

 Jon looked at me and said, “Doc said it’s bad, too – he doesn’t know if it’ll get cleared up by the time we get back, either…I’m SO screwed!  My wife is gonna kill me!” 

 I could see the dollar signs fly out of Jon’s head as he began to count up the money he was going to lose in the divorce and child support hearings.  I’d be a liar to say that I wasn’t reveling in the moment, but I managed to contain myself long enough to get off of the ship.  I laughed myself all the way across the base – Vengeance was mine!  Evidently, the little talk I had with Doc that night in the P.I. hadn’t hurt, either.  I don’t know if John really had the clap or not, but he sure thought he did!  And it was a bad case…nice addition, Doc!  Somehow, though, it would just manage to clear up JUST before we got back to the States.  It was a sweet, sweet moment to be me – and the first time I’d ever had the balls to pull anything like it!  I was hooked!  From that moment on, I knew that if I kept taking shit without giving some back, I was in for a long, unhappy life.  As mean as that trick may have been, it really helped me learn another lesson about sticking up for myself. 

 About ten minutes later, I met Dad and Matt at the Main Gate of the Pearl Harbor Naval Station. Dad had his rental car, and we had planned to drive around that morning and see the sights of the Big Island.  We started at the USS Arizona Memorial.  Dad had never been there before – he had been an East Coast sailor, and never had the opportunity.  I had been there, but had never really taken the time to go through the visitor’s center and see all of the displays and watch the presentation.  We did the whole thing – it was amazing!  By the time we made it out to the actual Memorial, it was like being in church – the crowd was completely quiet, in a very reverent silence.  We all walked out over the sunken hull and paid our respects to the men who died and still lay entombed beneath us.  No one said much of anything to anyone else, and if they did, it was all in whispers.  By the time we had finished our visit, we felt as though we had a newfound understanding for what it must have been like on that fateful December morning, and the sacrifice that those men made for their country.  It made me damn proud to be serving my country, and proud to stand beside those men as a fellow sailor.  I do truly believe that every American should visit that Memorial at least once – it gives a whole new meaning to the words freedom and sacrifice.

 After our visit to the Arizona, the three of us wanted to drive as far around the island as we could get before lunch and check it out.  We drove past huge sugarcane fields and pineapple plantations, past palm trees and volcanoes and some of the most beautiful beaches I had ever seen.  Hawai'i was incredible.  But the thing that caught our attention that day was a small roadside shop with a sign that said “Homemade Ice Cream”.  We were all hungry, so we stopped for a cone.  Dad and I had the Coconut Macadamia Nut special and Matt had chocolate.  We paid for our ice cream, got back in the car and made it about a mile down the road before the flavor caught up to us.  This was the most incredible thing I had EVER tasted!  Homemade ice cream with FRESH coconuts and macadamias – it was heaven in a spoon!  It was so good in fact, that we never did make it all the way around the island – we stopped about two miles further up the road, turned around, and went back for more!  It was just that good!  We were really running low on time anyway, and I had a phone call to make before it got too late, besides, we hadn’t officially checked Matt and Dad onboard yet.  We stopped at the ice cream stand for a second helping, and tootled back to Pearl Harbor, eating awesome ice cream and looking forward to a fun time on board the USS Fresno.  Somewhere during our island tour that day, I found a coconut laying on the ground underneath a palm tree.  I thought it was cool to see the big husk - I always thought they grew as the little round balls you see in the grocery store or on TV.  For some odd reason, I picked up the rugby ball-sized husk and took it back to the ship with me.  I thought it would be a cool thing to show people back in Wyoming.  Short Timer's Disease was taking hold for sure at this point.

 When we got back to the base, and I got Matt and Dad a base pass, we headed over to the Fresno to get them checked in.  Carrying my coconut under my arm, we got them checked on board, then went down to First Division berthing and found a couple of empty racks for them to sleep in and a locker for them to put their suitcase in.  Once we were done with that, we headed up to the mess decks for lunch, and their introduction to Navy chow (well, Matt’s introduction and Dad’s re-introduction).  After lunch, we decided that since we still had the rental car until 17:00, we should head back to Waikiki and let Matt go swimming while Dad and I sat and talked (ie: stared at girls in bikinis) on the beach.  Plus, I wanted to call Janet from the beach.  I had told Dad all about Janet and our plans to live together and how he was going to drop me off in Evanston on the way home so that she and I could drive to Laramie together.  He was cool with everything, and just warned me not to get my hopes up too high.  I gave him a smile and ran over to the Postal Office to get my day’s mail before we left the ship.  Wouldn’t you know it, I got a letter from Janet!  I quickly opened it and read it to Dad.  It was full of “can’t wait to see you’s” and “looking forward to hearing your voice” and stuff like that.  I was on cloud nine!  Dad got me down to earth long enough to get off the ship and into the car, so we could drive to Waikiki. 

Waikiki Beach - 02JUL90

At the beach, Matt took off toward the water, while Dad and I sat and stared at the amazing bodies of the beach bikini brigade.  This was in the era when the thong was first being worn in public, and we caught ourselves staring at more than one.  It was all well and good until one girl walked by that both Dad and I stared at, open-mouthed, only to have her turn around to look at us.  Getting caught staring wasn’t so bad, but what really threw us was the fact that she couldn’t have been any older than 14!!  There was definitely something in the water over there!  After a while of this, I decided that I could wait no longer, and I set off to find a pay phone to call Janet.

 I finally found one that worked about a half-mile up the beach – the only problem was that I had the street in one ear and a crowded beach in the other, and I could barely hear anything.  I dialed the number and waited nervously for an answer.  Finally I heard a faint

“Hello?” on the other end. 

I asked for Janet, and the voice said “Just a minute”. 

 About ten seconds later, I heard that voice for the first time in months…

 ”Hello?” 

 “Janet?  It’s me – Jerry.  How are you?” 

 “Oh, Jerry!  Hi….”

 And that was about all I could make out.  The connection wasn’t great, and the ambient noise level was so high that about all I could make out was something about a letter and if I had read it. 

 I shouted, “Yes!”, but she couldn’t hear me. 

 I then gave up and shouted into the phone, “I’ll call you from the base tomorrow!” and hung up. 

 It was a big disappointment, but at least I had heard her voice again.  I couldn’t wait to talk to her again tomorrow.  It was at this point that I decided I was in love.  I walked back over to where my Dad was and told him what had happened.  We sat there for a while longer, then decided to head back to the base and take the rental car back.

 Once we were back on base, and car-less, there wasn’t much left to do.  We went to the ship and had dinner, then headed down to the berthing area to relax.  They got all settled in, and Matt fell asleep quickly.  Dad and I wanted to head over to the base club to have a beer or two, and since Matt was asleep, and a pretty mature 12 anyway, we decided to leave him there. The guys in the berthing area promised to keep an eye on him, and Dad and I headed for the club.  We walked across the base and talked about life, the Navy, and what I was going to do afterwards.  It was really cool to talk to him like that.  Dad had always been my hero, but I never felt like I really measured up to his expectations of me.  For the first time in my life, I felt like he was taking me seriously, and that he respected me as a man.  It was a big moment for me, one that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. 

 When we got to the club, I signed Dad in as a guest on my ID and we headed for the bar.  I was about to order a beer, when I remembered that the drinking age was 21.  Fortunately, Dad was with me, and if he bought the beers, I could drink them.  Weird how they find ways around the liquor laws, huh?  We bought a couple, and were about to sit and talk some more, when one of the Fresno’s First Classes, ET1 Ballestra, found us.  He was drunker than all get out and decided that he had to come tell my Dad what a great guy I was.  It started out that way, but when he decided to buy us shots to celebrate, and Dad politely refused, it started to get ugly.  ET1 thought that Dad was talking down to him for refusing the drink, and Dad and I were getting pretty tired of ET1’s drunk ass.  Before it came to fisticuffs (which weren’t far off), I managed to take Dad one direction, and some of the other ET’s took ET1 the other.  It was a close one, but I think that Dad would have taken him! 

 We headed back to the ship and turned in for the night.  Just one last day in Hawaii, and then it was on toward home!  Besides, I finally got to have a real conversation with Janet the next day.  I fell asleep with a million thoughts going a million miles an hour in my head.

 

Tuesday, 3JUL90 - Hawai'i

ñ  Mail call – 1 from Janet, 1 from Dad, 1 from Lori

ñ  Bought Clint Black CD

ñ  “Dear John” letter from Janet

ñ  Got underway

ñ  Traded racks with Matt

We got underway this day, but not until later in the afternoon.  They gave us all liberty until noon, and I took full advantage of it, as I headed out onto the base with Dad and Matt.  We walked over toward the base exchange with the idea of buying some snacks for our underway time, and maybe looking at a new pair of boondockers to replace the ones that had been destroyed and thrown overboard.  I also had an eye out for the quietest phone I could find! 

 By the time we made it to the exchange, I had decided against shelling out $50 for a new pair of boondockers.  I figured that I only had ten days left, and once we were underway, there was no way the First Lieutenant could order me to wear boondockers if I didn’t have any. 

 “Screw him!” I thought, “If he wanted me to wear steel toes, then he shouldn’t have thrown mine overboard”. 

 My last great act of military defiance.  Instead, I bought a bag of sunflower seeds and a Clint Black CD (our theme album from D’Office).  Once the purchases had been made, we headed back toward the ship.  I had spotted an out-of-the-way phone in a small park by the pier, and I had decided that’s where I would call Jana.  Dad and Matt waited patiently as I picked up the receiver and dialed that 3-0-7 Wyoming area code.  The call went something like this: 

Ring…Ring…

  “Hello?” 

 “Yes, this is Jerry in Hawaii – is Janet in?”

 “Hi Jerry, this is Janet – how are you?”

 “Great, now that I can hear you!  Are you ready to see me? ‘Cause I’ll be there in    

  about ten days!”

  “Ready?  Oh….didn’t you read my letter?”

 “What?  The one you just sent?  Yes, I read it – you said you were looking forward to

  seeing me.”

   “You didn’t read the other letter?” 

 “What other letter?”

 “I sent you another one – I thought you’d have got it by now.  It explains everything.  I

   have to go now.  Goodbye.”

 

Click…buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

 

 And that was it.  I was left standing there with a confused look on my face and a dial tone in my ear. 

 “Everything alright, son?”  Dad asked. 

 “Ummm – not really.  I think I just got dumped, but I’m not real sure.  She said there was a letter waiting for me that explained it all.” 

 Dad immediately grasped the depth of the situation.  He hung up the phone for me and said, “then let’s go back to the ship and get that letter.” 

 I was still in a state of shock – I couldn’t believe this was happening.  After everything we’d been through – was it over?  I don’t remember the walk back to the ship – I just remember walking to the ship’s post office and picking up my mail.  There was a letter from Dad, one from my sister Lori, and…there it was – a letter from Janet.  A thick one, too.  I clutched my mail in my hand and we went down to First Division Berthing where I threw my bag from the exchange on my rack and sat down on the deck to read my first “Dear John” letter.  With my Dad sitting right next to me.

 The letter actually didn’t say much of anything.  She said something about the fact that she “knew I wasn’t ready for marriage” and that she was.  She said something vague about transferring to a college in Utah because it was cheaper, and that was about it.  The gist of the whole thing was that we were through.  I was at first deeply hurt.  I cried like a baby.  But the more I thought about it, the madder I got.  She hadn’t told me anything – how could she just dump me like that with no explanation!?  I wanted to get up and go call her again, but Dad stopped me. 

 “Give it some time, son.  If you’re still torn up about it when we get back to California, then give her a call.  Otherwise, give yourself some time to think about it.” 

 Dad was always so right when it came to advice.  I threw the letter in with the others, then put on my dungarees and got ready to get the Fresno back out to sea for the last time.  I don’t think I truly got over that letter until I finally got the full story about two months later from Janet’s ex-roommate when I got back to Laramie.

 The Navy has no time for the broken hearted, so it was back to work as soon as I got topside.  The afternoon went by quickly as we made preparations for getting underway.  Once we were all set, and the tugs had pulled up alongside, they tossed the lines over, and we were underway once again.  It would be my very last time to get “haze gray and underway” on active duty, and I was thrilled!  I remember watching Pearl Harbor go by, and then watching the water as we sailed out of the breakwater, headed for the open ocean.  The water was about seven of the most distinctly different shades of blue I’d ever seen.  Because of the differing depths of the reefs as we sailed out, the water changed colors in very dramatic ways.  It was beautiful – like a big, blue patchwork quilt.  I will never forget the way that water looked – in part because of the unusual coloration, but mostly because it was my last time to sail out of port. 

Leaving the breakwater in Pearl Harbor, HI.  One last time out to sea - 03JUL90

Once away from the breakwater, and out onto the open ocean, it was business as usual on the Fresno.  We had dinner in the mess hall, and I showed Matt and Dad all around the spaces on board the ship.  There were probably about 25 “Tigers” with us, and most of the guys who were hosting family were doing the same thing.  It was a lot of fun – even the C.O. had his Dad aboard for our voyage.  Once the tour was complete, we headed to the berthing area to turn in.  Matt had a rack that was right next to the TV, and he wanted to go to sleep, so I traded racks and let him sleep in my bottom rack with a curtain back away from the TV.  It looked like I would finish my time on board the Fresno where I came in – in a top rack with my nose pressed against a sewer pipe from the head above us.  Fitting.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE:  HAWAI’I TO LONG BEACH – TIGER CRUISE

The next nine days were among the most exciting days at sea I’d ever spent.  In part because my Dad and brother were there, and in part because they were my last active duty days at sea…ever!  Since it was a Tiger Cruise, we took some time to show the Tigers what the Fresno could do.  We held all kinds of training exercises and did gunnery exhibitions and landed lots of helos in addition to our normal daily routines. 

 

Wednesday, 4JUL90

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Hairy Buffalo

ñ  Pyro Display for fireworks

ñ  Fired M5 pistol

ñ  Played cards in MR Shop with Dad & Matt

ñ  Mounted skeet thrower

 Our first full day at sea on the Tiger Cruise was July 4^th – Independence Day.  Since it was a holiday, we knocked off ship’s work and had a big Hairy Buffalo cookout on the flight deck.  We ate burgers and dogs and drank sodas until we were sick, then we set off some of our pyro to substitute for fireworks after the sun went down.  It was kind of cool – there were four or five other ships within sight of us, and all of them were doing the same thing.  The Marines were launching their battlefield illumination flares off the Main Deck, and the sailors were shooting off flare pistols.  Everywhere you looked, the sky was awash with bright red, white and green flares and signals.  I finally got to fire one of our Mark V flare guns – it was a stubby little pistol-looking thing that fired big shells.  I shot off all the different colors we had, then, just for fun, I sent up a smoke flare that looked really cool with all of the other flares reflecting off it.  It was a very unique fireworks display, and one of the most patriotic I have ever seen.  This remains one of my favorite Fourth of July’s ever.

 

Thursday, 5JUL90

ñ  1 WEEK LEFT!

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing – Sea Cobra

ñ  .50 Cal shoot for Tigers – finally got to shoot

ñ  Fixed stencil on fire station

ñ  Played poker in MR Shop

ñ  I am no longer a teenager – Happy 20^th Birthday!

 July 5^th was an exciting day too, not because of anything other than the fact that it was my birthday – and not just ANY birthday, this was my TWENTIETH birthday…I was a teenager no longer.  I was still not legal drinking age, but at least I wasn’t a teenager anymore. 

 We landed a Sea Cobra attack helicopter during flight quarters that morning – it was the first time I’d ever seen one up close.  It was amazing – we didn’t even hear it coming until it was right on top of us!  It was very small and amazingly fast!  It didn’t spend long on deck, but they told us that there would be one in a couple of days that would stay with us for a few hours so that all of the Tigers could get a good look at it.  To Hell with the Tigers, I wanted a good look at it!  We did the usual evolutions of the day, like taking temps and doing PMS checks, and we showed the Tigers around our spaces, and the gun mounts and things.  And then, that afternoon – it happened.

USS Fresno Third Division - 05JUL90

 The First Lieutenant decided, out of the blue, that we should have a GUNEX and show the Tigers how to shoot the .50 cals!  I couldn’t believe it – I was going to get one last chance to fire the machine guns!  I almost sprinted to the armory to get the .50 cal ammo and the rest of the things we needed for the shoot!  By the time I got back to the mount with the supplies, there was a crowd of Tigers standing by, waiting to shoot.  I also noticed that my Senior Chief, Chief Bulletier was standing there.  I had NEVER seen Chief Bulletier at any of the previous GUNEX, but there he was – and with his son standing next to him.  My heart sank.  I knew that he would play the Big Chief game, and act like it was his job to show everyone how to use the gun.  I saw my chance to finally shoot the .50’s slip right through my fingers.  Without saying a word, I loaded the weapon, put it on safe, and stepped back so Senior Chief could take over.  True to my belief, he took it upon himself to instruct the Tigers in the operation of the gun, then he fired off a few rounds.  After he was done, he let his son fire a few rounds.  Then the C.O. shot a few, and his Dad, then all of the Tigers one by one – including my Dad and my brother.  And there I stood – a Gunner’s Mate who had never fired a .50 cal machine gun.  I was crushed – but didn’t say anything.

 Finally, after the last Tiger had shot, and they were winding things up, I decided that I had taken  enough.  I walked up to the front of the crowd and asked Senior Chief if I could shoot. 

 “I’ve never been given a chance to shoot the .50’s” I explained.  “Every time I’m about to shoot something happens and I miss my chance.  Now, I’m off active duty in a week AND it’s my birthday.  So can I shoot now?” 

 Senior Chief just looked at me blankly (he actually looked at EVERYONE blankly, so no surprise there).  The First Lieutenant broke the silence –

 “You’ve NEVER shot the .50 cals?” he said, incredulously. 

 “No Sir, Never.  Everyone else in my division, including the new guy, Lusher, has shot.  Hell, even my Dad and my little brother have shot – but not me.” 

 With that, LT McInierney grabbed a new box of ammo, fed it into the gun and spun the tripod my way.  “Have at it, Pete – and make it good!” 

 I grabbed the handles and sighted down the barrel toward the big, red target floating in the water.  I squeezed the triggers and felt the power of the .50 caliber machine gun roar to life. 

 BWADDAAAAA BWADDAAAA BWADDAA…. BWADDAAAAA BWADDAAAA BWADDAA

 It was great.  I was careful to fire only the authorized 3-5 round Navy bursts (not the wasteful Marine 7-10 round bursts) and I went through that entire box of ammo in the process of blowing the holy living shit out of a red-painted 55 gallon plastic drum.  After two years of missed chances, after two years of Navy duty, after getting dumped by my girlfriend, the realization that we only had one more week at sea left, and in celebration of the life I was about to begin – it was the most amazingly therapeutic two minutes of my entire life!  The smile didn’t leave my face for the next two days.  The smell of hot gunpowder and phosphorous tracer rounds was like a bouquet of the most exquisite flowers on earth.  I was in Heaven!   I guess there was a little “War Pig” in me after all.

 Once my controlled rampage was over and we had secured from the GUNEX and cleaned up the guns, it was time to knock off ship’s work and relax for the evening.  We ate dinner in the galley, then headed down to what had become my regular hang out spot – the MR Shop.  It was the unofficial Redneck Zone on the Fresno and our little gang of Sailors and Marines had become a pretty tight group.  Dad and Matt fit right in.  We spent the majority of the Tiger Cruise nights playing cards with the guys.  They taught my 12-year old brother such classic games as “Acey Ducey”, “Chase The Bitch” and “Bullshit”.  It was an education in many different respects, most of them not entirely worthwhile or wholesome.  Nonetheless, it was a chance to spend some quality time with friends and kind of forget for a while where we were and how much we missed home.  Nobody won or lost much in these games, and the truth be known, we never really kept track.  We were just as happy to play for M&M’s as we were to play for cash, it was more about the camaraderie than about the money.  It was down in the MR shop that my little brother was also taught the Lesson of Fly And Buy, as he became the “Soda Bitch” and made the first of innumerable trips to the soda machines.  Matt didn’t care, he just saw the free can of pop in it for him.  He’d probably still be running for sodas today if we hadn’t run out of loose change!

 

Friday, 6JUL90

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 2 landings

ñ  Did leapfrogs with the Samuel Gompers

ñ  MR Shop Gang gave me a birthday cake

ñ  Fired shotguns

ñ  Packed stuff in armory

 The 6^th was quiet – we did some more shipboard exercises, like doing leapfrogs with the USS Samuel Gompers.  We had flight quarters and landed a couple more helos with mail and some fresh supplies and groceries.  They wouldn’t tell us what kind of groceries, but word quickly spread that we had just brought on steak and lobster for a big celebratory feast!  No one would confirm or deny, but the “word” was usually right, and we were all licking our chops for a feast like that! 

 During the day we also broke out the shotguns and held a fantail fire, where we took turns standing on the aft part of the deck (or fantail) of the Fresno and shooting the shotguns at the trash targets we’d thrown overboard.  Dad and I forgot ourselves and started playing games, where I’d shoot a piece of trash out of the water, and Dad would try to hit it before it came back down.  It was a version of the target game we’d played with soda cans and our .22’s since I was 4.  We were having so much fun that we didn’t realize that everyone else had stopped shooting and was staring at us.  We didn’t think about it and kept on plinking until the “Holy Shit” comments got loud enough for us to hear.  We looked around and realized the commotion we had caused.  Guys were amazed at our marksmanship, and Dad and I were just playing!  It was then that we realized maybe Dad’s idea of a game for a 4-year old was a bit different than what other kids did with their Dads.  Hmmm…maybe.

 After our little demonstration, we broke out a clay pigeon thrower that Jim Lusher had found buried in one of our storerooms.  We weren’t exactly sure how to put it together, but Dad – who had been a clay pigeon shooter from way back, took charge and showed us how.  Before long, it was up and running, and they were shooting skeet from the flight deck.  Dad patiently waited his turn while most guys missed more than they hit.  Finally, Dad took his place at the line and proceeded to hit about ten in a row.  He would have hit twenty, but we ran out of targets.  After a voluminous round of applause, we took the shotguns down to the armory to clean, and we put away the pigeon thrower.  Everyone was amazed at the display that Dad and I (mostly Dad) had put on that day.  Funny how one man’s game is another’s fascination.  It was a very “bust-yer-buttons” type of day for me and my Dad.

 That afternoon came an experience I’ll never forget.  Talk about your “bust-yer-buttons” stuff – this was the big one.  During my time on the Frez, I had become close friends with EN3 Dave Benton.  Dave would tell me about all of the stuff going on in Engineering, and I would tell him all about Deck Department and Third Division.  Dave told me about how the engines on the Fresno were all about twenty years outdated, and how they were held together with bubblegum and bailing wire. He told me about how they had Navy Technical Reps come out during port visits in the Philippines to help them find problems with the engines, but no matter what anybody did, they just couldn’t find a noise in one of them.  He told me that NO ONE could find it and they just couldn’t figure out what was wrong.  They had shut off that engine time and again, because they were mystified.  Before the Tiger Cruise had begun, I had jokingly told Dave,

“My Dad’s been a diesel mechanic for years, I’ll bet he can fix it!” 

 Dave just laughed and said “we’ll have to see”. 

 I had pretty much forgotten about that little exchange, but evidently, Dave hadn’t.

 As I took my Dad on a more extensive, behind the scenes tour of the ship (Matt was off playing cards with the Marines in the MR shop), we headed down to Main Control to find Dave so we could get a tour of the engine rooms.  Dad had been an Engineman when he was in, so he recognized a lot of the gear right off.  I was actually pretty impressed with his knowledge of our systems – Hell, Dad knew more about it than I did!  Dave was pretty impressed, too, because he told Dad,

 “Your son says you know a lot about these old engines…” 

 Dad looked at them and said, “Oh Hell yeah, I’ve been working on those old ALCO diesels for the last thirty years.  We had ‘em on my ship, and now I fix them on train locomotives.” 

 “Really?  Wow – well, we’ve been having a problem with number two – care to take a look?” 

 Dad jumped at the chance.  “Sure” he said, and we headed off into the space. 

 “This is it…hear that sound?  That’s the problem.” 

 Dad listened carefully – all I could hear was a loud damn engine in a small, hot room. 

 “Yup, I hear it…got a screwdriver or something?” 

 Dave grabbed a long handled screwdriver from one of the Firemen nearby and handed it to Dad.  He put it to his ear and set the tip against the valve covers one by one down the side of the engine. 

 “Nope…nope…nope…AHA – this one’s your problem.  Let’s pull this cover off.” 

 The look on Dave’s face told me all I needed to know.  It fifteen seconds, Dad had found a problem that their entire department AND the Navy’s “official tech reps” hadn’t found in six months!  I was so damn proud of my Dad at that moment!  As the wrenches and tools began to fly, I left them to their work.  Dad was in hog heaven – elbow deep in grease, turning wrenches and doing his specialty – fixing the unfixable.  I headed up to my world in the armory and waited to hear the story later.  Leave it to my Dad – to fix my ship in the middle of the ocean.  I don’t think I’d ever been prouder of him than at that precise moment.

 It didn’t take long.  About a half hour later, Dad found me in the armory, with the help of Dave Benton.  They were talking like old friends.  When they walked in the door, Dave kept telling him “Thank you” over and over. 

 “Dude – your Dad is amazing!  I can’t believe he fixed that!  You were SO right!”  He shook Dad’s hand again, and left. 

 “So, you get it fixed?” I asked. 

 “Yeah, it was really easy – dumbshits.” 

 I expected no less succinct of an answer from Dad.  I was just glad he was my Dad.  The Captain even gave him a special recognition for fixing the problem.  And Dad ate it up.  Ain’t nobody cooler than my Dad.

 That night, we went down to the MR shop to play cards again.  Matt had spent most of the day down there already, playing cards and hanging out with Kent Pulling and the boys.  We had only been down there a few minutes, when Buck and Latch, two of my Marine buds, came down the ladderback with a cake in their hands.  This was not just any cake – it was a birthday cake with MY name on it!  Evidently, they had bribed their Marine cook into making it, and he in turn, had bribed the Fresno’s MS’s to let him make it in their galley!  It was an amazing feat of bribery and perseverance, but they got it done!  I was so surprised!  Talk about your true friends. 

My 20th birthday cake in the MR Shop - 06JUL90

 They sent Matt on a “Fly and Buy” mission, then lit the candles and sang me “Happy Birthday”.  It was cool.  I made a wish to get home safely, blew out the candles and served cake all around.  A very memorable night with some very memorable friends.  And even though it the day after my birthday, that cake made my 20^th birthday one for the ages – it was amazing how much hostility and built-up dislike about my time on active duty disappeared with that one little gesture.  I guess it’s true – the little things mean the most.

 That night, after the cake was gone, and we were done playing poker, I walked back to the berthing area with Matt and Dad.  I said goodnight to them and headed back to the armory where I spent some time by myself to think and pack all of my stuff in the armory.  I packed up my stereo and my uniforms I had stored there.  My coveralls and extra ballcap and white hat.  Then I found the pile of letters from Janet.  I sat and read them all – the last one twice.  Then I put them into a big manilla envelope and put it in the box as well.  It was tearing me up inside – but I knew I was going to make it through.  I just wanted an explanation.  I decided to call her when we got stateside and ask her exactly what happened.  With that in mind, I sat down and wrote her a letter telling her how I felt.  I dropped it off in the Post Office as I headed back to my new rack, where I climbed up and in and dozed off, just five short days from the End Of Active Obligated Service…July 11^th, my EAOS!!

 

Saturday, 7JUL90

ñ  Started Check-Out

ñ  Got Typhoid shot – sick all day

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 3 landings

ñ  Cobra on deck form 1030-1400

ñ  Announced “Bingo Night”

ñ  Watched “Major League”

Saturday the 7^th was a bad day.  I had to begin my official check-out procedures, and my first stop was sick bay, where I got a typhoid shot.  It made me sick as a dog all day.  We had flight quarters later that morning, and we landed a couple more helos.  A Sea Cobra landed and stayed on deck from 10 until 2 that afternoon.  They let the Tigers sit in the pilot’s seat and check it out.  Matt loved it – it was super cool.  The pilot showed off all the bells and whistles, like the little wheel mounted on top of his helmet that locked into a receiver in the canopy that would aim his cannon wherever he looked.  It was awesome!! 

 After he took off, he made a few fly-bys of the Frez.  The Sea Cobras were cool – you couldn’t even hear him coming…you’d just see this tiny little dot coming closer and closer.  And then suddenly, he was right on top of you, flying top speed, and as he went past, the sound finally caught up to him.  It was unbelievably loud!  Louder by far than the Harrier Jump Jets we’d seen all deployment long off the USS Peleliu.  It was amazing how small the profile was of the Sea Cobra, and how fast it flew.  But the sound was the part that stuck with me – totally silent until it was right THERE, then the loudest thing you’d ever heard.  Definitely a scare factor involved!

 That night, after dinner, they passed the word for me to come up to the bridge.  It was really odd to hear my name come out of the 1MC, and I figured that there must be something wrong in one of the magazines or something.  I ran up to the bridge to find out what they needed.  The Officer Of The Deck was LT Taite.  He was about 6’5” and skinny as a rail, and a great guy.  We all liked him, because he had a great sense of humor. 

 “Yes Sir, you needed me?” I asked. 

 “Oh Yeah, Pete…Hey – you were the one who used to do the radio voice up here on watch, weren’t you?” 

 I had to think for a minute, but then remembered that when I was in Deck Department and on the late watches, I would entertain the watch crew by doing my “2 a.m. K.O.M.A.” cheesy radio personality impersonation. 

 “Ummm..yes, sir, I guess so” 

 “Good – I want you to pass this word in cheesiest, most game-show voice you can muster, okay?”  And he handed me a piece of paper. 

 I looked at it and saw that they were going to hold a Bingo Night on the mess decks for the crew and the Tigers.  They had prizes and fun stuff as a good tension breaker for the way home.  I exhaled – at least I wasn’t in trouble!  I said, “Sure” and stepped out onto the bridge wing to practice for a minute or two.  When I had my best Game Show Host voice ready (a voice my friends would later dub, “Dr. Cheese”) I stepped up to the mic and keyed it open. 

 

“IIIIIIIT’S BINGO NIGHT ON THE FRESNO!!!  COME ON DOWN TO THE MESS DECKS AND TRY YOUR LUCK AT BINGO.  GREAT PRIZES, GREAT FOOD, AND IT’S ONLY HERE…ON THE FRESNOOOOOOO.  IIIIIT’S BINGO NIGHT – TONIIIIIIGHT!!”

 

The response was instantaneous.  The bridge collapsed in laughter, and Mr. Taite high-fived me. 

 “That was AWESOME!!” he said – “Perfect!”. 

 I smiled and laughed along.  If I’d have only known that this “broadcast” was just the beginning of the rest of my life.  If I’d have only known that “Dr. Cheese” would become a permanent part of my repertoire and that my voice would become the tool I based my future on.  If I’d have only known…I wouldn’t have changed a thing.  It was perfect – the most perfect thing I’ve ever broadcast.  So perfect in fact that the C.O. himself burst into the bridge saying,

 “What in the Hell WAS that?” 

 The laughter instantly died as we all popped to attention…including Mr. Taite. 

 “It was my idea, Sir” he said, “I wanted to make Bingo Night a little more….fun.  Sir.”  

 “Oh – well WHO did it?” 

 “GMG3 Peterson, Sir.” 

 I couldn’t believe it – my buddy, Mr. Taite, had ratted me out! 

 “Peterson, was that you?” 

 I swallowed hard.  “Y-y-yes, Sir.” I stammered. 

 “Well….good job!  That was hilarious.  The entire Wardroom was rolling on the floor!  Can we use you for other announcements?” 

 I couldn’t believe it – he liked it! 

 “Sure, Sir!  I’d be happy to”. 

 “Good.  Carry on then.” 

 He quickly looked around the bridge.  “Carry on men, and Mr. Taite..” 

 “Yes, Sir?” 

 “Next time – ask me first, okay?” 

 “Yes, Sir.” 

 With that, he shut the door and was gone.  We all breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned into laughter.  Man, we thought we were busted!  I think Mr. Taite was the most relieved of all. 

 “Good job Pete – I’ll call you next time I need you.  Thanks.”

 “Thank you, sir.” 

 I left the bridge and headed back to First Division Berthing, just glad to still be wearing my solitary third class stripe!

 When I got back to the berthing area, I was met with applause and congratulations.  Everyone thought it was hilarious, including Dad and Matt.  No one had ever heard a word passed like that before!  I reveled in my new-found notoriety as my swelled head and I made our way down to the MR shop for another night of playing cards – but this time with a new “play-by-play” announcer for the game (Until everyone got so sick of “Dr. Cheese” that they threatened to throw me overboard!)

Sunday, 8JUL90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Did Pre-Fire checks

ñ  Holiday Routine

ñ  Steel Beach Picnic

ñ  Rained – cold & nasty

ñ  Watched George Carlin

ñ  Played Cards in MR Shop

 Sunday the 8^th was a scheduled Holiday Routine day.  We didn’t do much work, just got the gun mounts ready for Monday’s scheduled gunnery exercises and took the daily temps in our magazines.  They did hold a Steel Beach Picnic (ie: Hairy Buffalo), but it was rainy and nasty out, so we only stayed long enough to grab a burger or two, then head back down to the berthing area to watch movies.  They showed a new movie – one that had been brought by one of the Tigers.   It was a George Carlin stand-up routine – and absolutely hilarious!  After six months of the same movies, however, ANYTHING new was welcome!  We watched it, then headed down to the MR shop for our usual night of card playing and story telling.  A very relaxing Sunday to kick off our LAST WEEK of deployment.  Nobody won or lost much that night, and we all headed off to bed fairly early – well before lights out.  There was just something about a rainy day at sea that made a guy sleepy as Hell.

 

Monday, 9JUL90

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 1 landing

ñ  Quick Draw GUNEX – Mt. 32 LSO

ñ  Got more signatures on check-out sheet

ñ  Passed word for Bingo

ñ  Played hearts in MR Shop

ñ  Sold belt buckle

 Monday morning – my very last active duty Monday morning.  My last Monday morning onboard the USS Fresno – probably the best Monday of my young life!  I spent it doing the usual daily chores and work, in addition to collecting a few more signatures on my official sign-out sheet.  The sign-out sheet was a piece of paper that I was to take from office to office on the ship and get signed saying that I’d completed everything I needed to be released.  Things like my discharge physical, my final pay papers and the turn in of my ship’s gear, like my deck jacket and shore patrol gear.  I was getting closer and closer to being officially detached from the Fresno’s crew. 

 Later that morning, we held a “quick fire” exercise on the 3”50 mounts.  It was the last time I’d get to fire them, and also the last (and worst) case of “The Wills” I would ever have.

 “The Wills” were what we had nicknamed all of the boneheaded stunts that GMG3 Willis had pulled – the test casting, the pyro locker, the hand grenades, all now considered a “case of The Wills”.  On this particular morning, we had the mounts up and running and ready for action.  There was no way we would have a malfunction today – not with the Tigers on board.  About ten minutes before we were to begin, the First Lieutenant came to us and told us that he, himself would be supervising the operation.  He said that, instead of standing on the bridge or in Combat Central like usual, he would stand on the main deck and run the exercise through a pair of sound-powered phones.  Odd, we thought – but whatever tripped his trigger.  He then told us that we’d be using Mount 32 only – the one that always worked.  I guess that he wanted to make sure we didn’t embarrass ourselves in front of the CO’s Dad!  As we got ready to take our places in the mount, A second curious happenstance occurred – Willis and Grace traded places.  Jon had always been our Gun Captain – the guy who sat in the top of the mount and passed the orders to the loaders to put the shells into the hoppers.  Once the shells were loaded in, then it was Jon’s job to cycle them into the breech with his remote control.  After the shells were in the breech, and the blocks were up, then it was up to me.  I was the LSO – my job was to actually sight in on the target and pull the trigger.  In an ordinary exercise, Will was the backup LSO – he sat on the other side of the mount and was in charge of firing the mount if something happened to me or my controls.  We put him there on purpose – because he didn’t have to do anything, therefore, he couldn’t screw anything up!  When Will and Jon decided to change places, I knew we were in for something bad.  Despite all of the First Lieutenant’s efforts to avoid mistakes and screw-ups, I just knew something bad was about to happen.

 The exercise called for a “quick draw”.  Basically, they would get all of the Tigers in place to watch us go, then call “Quick Draw! Quick Draw!” over the 1MC, and the gun crew would run  up to the O3 level, power up the mounts, load the hoppers, and fire three rounds as fast as we could.  It seemed easy – we had everything laid out – shells, hearing protectors and protective clothing.  We had the amplidynes warmed up and the sound powered phones wired and ready to go. We even made a practice dry run to be sure we weren't going to miss anything. It was during this practice run that Will and Jon decided to make the switch.  After we had finished the run-through, and walked down to the main deck, I was busy trying to talk Jon out of making a mistake when we heard it – “Quick Draw, Quick Draw!”. 

 In an instant, we were sprinting up the ladderbacks to Mount 32.  The entire gun crew was there in less than a minute, and we jumped into our positions – Will into the Captain’s Chair, me in the LSO saddle, and Jon on the other side.  They threw four rounds into the hopper (max capacity in case we had problems with one of the rounds), and Will cycled a round into the breech. 

 “Load One!” he yelled. 

 “Fire One!” I responded and pulled the trigger. 

 

BLAM! 

 The thunderous report of the big guns shook the fiberglass shell of the gun mount as Will loaded the next round into the breech. 

 

“Load Two!”

 “Fire Two!”

 BLAM!  

 

“Load Three!”

 “Fire Three!”

BLAM! 

 

And that was that.  Three rounds loaded, three rounds fired.  We were done.  But in all the confusion, no one noticed the fact that Will had hit the cycle button one too many times and had cycled a FOURTH round into the breech.  I had no idea that there was a live round in the chamber of the gun, ready to fire.  Nobody else did either – nobody, that is, except Will, who didn’t say a word to anyone.  He just figured that he’d wait until we were all done, then accidentally “discover” the round loaded into the chamber and blame it on a faulty switch.  Unfortunately for me, however, Will never got the chance to make his discovery because at that very instant, the ship hit a good-sized swell and took an odd roll. 

 The sudden change in direction was enough to toss me off my seat.  As a total reaction, I grabbed for something to help me from falling out of the open door of the mount.  The thing I grabbed was the trigger control. 

 The instant I grabbed it, I heard the unmistakable “click” of the firing circuit igniting the primer. 

 

BLAM!! 

 

The “unloaded” gun went off! 

 The sound was enough to shock us, but the fact that the Frez was still in mid-roll and pointed down toward the water shocked us even more, because the live round stuck the water no more than ten feet off of the port beam!  That in itself was enough to scare the living shit out of all of us but the REALLY scary thing was that we all had been told that 3”50 rounds had an odd habit of being completely erratic once they hit the water.  They told us that the rounds had a tendency to head in a random direction, sometimes even turning back on themselves.  As the shell hit the water, we all braced for the secondary explosion as we were sure that it was going to come back and hit the Fresno.  I just knew I was going to go down in history as the only Gunner’s Mate in the history of the US Navy to sink HIS OWN ship!

 I didn’t have long to think about this though, as I felt a hand close itself around the back of my neck and rip me out of the mount.  I was forcibly pulled from my seat and unceremoniously dumped on the non-skid deck by the First Lieutenant who had a look of rage in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before (or since, come to think of it). 

 “WHAT IN THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” He yelled. 

 “I don’t know, Sir – there wasn’t supposed to be a round IN the damn gun!” 

 My explanation didn’t seem to satisfy him as he screamed for the entire crew to come out of the mount…NOW!  

 Jon and Will climbed out as I picked myself up off of the deck and we all stood at attention for our dressing-down.  And right there, in front of the CO, his Dad, MY Dad and all of the Tigers, LT McIerney let us have it.  We were the stupidest, most incompetent Gunner’s Mates in the history of the Navy – and that was the complimentary part of his tirade!  It was a chewing out of monumental proportions, and we just stood there and took it.  After six months of continual ineptitude, we really DID deserve it, even though it was yet ANOTHER of Will’s screw-ups that brought us to this point.  We let him vent, then went about our clean up as the crew dispersed.  I didn’t say anything to Will – I was too mad at him to risk opening my mouth.  But I did hear Jon mutter something that sounded vaguely like a death threat under his breath.

 Once the Quick Draw debacle was behind us, we got on with the rest of the day’s activities.  We ate lunch and did some busy work until the end of the day.  I spent some time packing up more of my gear, and by “knock off ship’s work”, I was pretty much ready to go.  After dinner, Matt, Dad and I headed down to the MR shop for a spirited round of Hearts and other card games.  Around 19:00 that night, I heard the word passed for me to go to the bridge again.  I wasn’t so worried about it this time, and indeed I shouldn’t have been.  Mr. Taite was on Deck again, and it was time for Bingo Night.  As I walked into the bridge, Mr. Waite just said

 “Bingo Night – Announce for it.” 

 And I did. 

 

The call of “IIIIT’S BINGO NIGHT ON THE FRESNOOOOO” echoed through the      p-ways once again. 

 After yet another round of adulation on the bridge, I walked back toward the card game.  Through the cheers and catcalls down the p-ways, I went back down to the MR shop and took my place at the card table.

 As we played, the pot began to get higher and higher – way above the usual penny ante game we were used to.  I realized that I was way out of my league and stepped away as the Big Dogs took over.  The pot grew to around a hundred bucks, and my bud, Kent Pulling walked away with the lion’s share.  Once the game was done, Kent and I stayed and talked for a while.  I told him that I was all packed up to go and was ready to get back to Wyoming.  He asked me if I was going to take the belt buckle that I had been wearing on liberty with me.  The buckle was one I’d bought in a western wear shop in the mall in Lakewood, California before we left.  It was a big, showy Montana Silversmith fake calf roping trophy buckle.  I knew that I’d catch endless crap for wearing it in Wyoming, so I agreed to sell it to him.  I’d paid $40 bucks for the thing – I got in on sale (and the salesperson misread the tag – it was supposed to have been $140).  I told Kent that I would sell it to him for $60 and he agreed.  I gave him the buckle, pocketed my money and headed back to the berthing area feeling like a helluva businessman.  Yeah – life was good with only three days to go!

 

Tuesday, 10JUL90

ñ  Picked up California radio stations

ñ  Got HIV Test

ñ  Steak & Lobster dinner

ñ  Dad & Matt got SWO pins

ñ  Saw Porpoises

ñ  Cleaned mounts

ñ  Finished packing

 The morning of July 10^th was a beautiful one by all regards – the weather was warm, the seas were calm and we were greeted at quarters by a very welcome sight – porpoises!  You only saw them when you were close to land, and we knew that home was within reach!  The spirits of the crew, already high – were lifted yet another notch.  We barely heard the Plan Of The Day and our work assignments, but it didn’t really matter – after six months at sea, we knew what to do.  We popped to attention, saluted our division officers and headed off to complete another day’s work onboard the USS Fresno.  For Third Division, it meant cleaning the gun mounts, and preparing to store all of the pyro and chaff for pulling into the Long Beach Naval Station.  There was not a more glorious job in all the Navy that morning…well, maybe one – I finished packing all of my gear out of my lockers and staged it all in the armory for my final offload.  All I had left to pack was the dungarees I was wearing, my dress whites for pulling into port and a couple pairs of clean underwear.  I was ready to be done!  I was definitely a short-timer – so short, as a matter of fact, that I had to look up to see the bottom of my boondockers!

 Matt and Dad were busy with the Tigers, going through another tour and training session.  The officers kept them busy showing them around the Fresno and explaining what all we did to keep her up and running.  After lunch on this day, we had a mock awards ceremony, and the Captain awarded all of the Tigers with SWO (surface warfare) pins, proclaiming them “officially trained” onboard the Fresno.  It was kind of a cool thing –I think the Tigers really liked it.  I know my Dad still has his pin. 

 After I finished packing, I went around and finished my checkout sheet.  I made one last stop in sick bay for an HIV/AIDS test (which was negative) and then up to the Pass Office for my final sign out on my records and to get all my discharge paperwork in order.  My ID card actually expired the next day, the 11^th, but we wouldn’t pull into port until the 12^th.  I should have gotten a new card in Hawaii, but for one day, we didn’t see the harm in letting it slide. As it turns out, that was a HUGE mistake, but we didn’t know that at the time! 

 The only thing I was worried about at my checkout was making sure they had my address to send me my Shellback Certificate.  That Certificate was the one piece of paper I had longed for my entire Navy career.  I remember seeing my Granddad’s hanging on his wall since I was a little kid, and I couldn’t wait to hang my own up.  I was very, very proud of having earned that piece of paper, and I wasn’t going to let a little thing like getting off active duty stop me from having it!  I gave them my address in Laramie, and checked and double-checked that they would send it to me when they all came in.  They promised to send it to me and gave me the final signature that I needed to be officially released from the Fresno – well, the last one BESIDES the Captain’s.  I should have known that it went too easy.  As it turned out, my expired ID card ended up being a big problem, and I didn’t see my Shellback Certificate for another three years, and the only reason I got it then was because of an incredibly lucky coincidence.  We’ll come back to this later – but now, it was time to get down to the mess decks for dinner!

 Dinner was a big deal, because the secret was finally out – that “unknown stuff” we had hauled off of the helicopter a couple of days earlier had finally been identified.  It was Steak and Lobster and would be served to the crew in celebration of a job well done.  We all hurried to the mess decks and took our place in line for chow.  It was awesome!  The MS’s actually cooked the lobster perfectly, and the steaks were edible, too!  They had sent us the good stuff this time, USDA Choice – not the usual USDA “acceptable” stuff.  There were no whip marks where the jockey had been beating this piece of meat!  It was a great meal – topped off by one of the SH’s running into the mess decks carrying his big radio. 

 “Listen to this!” he yelled, and plugged it in.  

 He extended the antenna, fiddled with the dial, and……CALIFORNIA RADIO!!!  We had picked up an FM signal from a California radio station!  The crew went nuts!  We were home!  Tomorrow, we’d be able to see land, but at least tonight we could HEAR it!  We sat and listened to the music and the commercials and the news and even the inane chatter of the DJ between songs like it was the most important thing we’d ever heard in our lives.  The feeling of homesickness from six long months washed away, replaced by a feeling of anxiousness and impatience to get to port and be secured from WestPac ’90!

 

Wednesday, 11JUL90

ñ  Took Temps

ñ  Flight Qtrs – 4 landings

ñ  Swim Call – shark watch

ñ  Admiral came aboard

ñ  Marines left

ñ  Anchored Out

ñ  Payday - $199.00

ñ  Fished off stern gate

ñ  Passed word for movies & pizza

ñ  Officially Detached!!

ñ  EAOS

 July 11^th, 1990 – one day away from home.  This was a busy day for us.  Not only were we making the last-minute preparations for pulling into port, but we were also offloading our entire Marine company at Camp Pendleton.  After six long months, it was time to say goodbye to the men of Alpha Company.  We had said most of our farewells the night before down in the MR shop, but we all gave last-minute handshakes to those Marines we had become good pards with.  Guys like Latch and Buck and Curly – all Jarheads I was proud to call my friends.  I had never met them before deployment, and I never saw any of them again afterwards, but for six crazy months in 1990, we were all brothers-in-arms.  It would be sad to see them go, but nice to get our ship back again.

 Around 0800 that morning, as the sun had filled the sky, and we were still steaming due East, when we saw a little bump on the horizon.  The bump began to grow, and soon became two bumps…then three, then a whole line of little bumps.  Then it dawned on us what it was – it was the coast of California!!  The men rushed topside to catch a glimpse of home – and cheered and hollered when they saw it.  It was the most glorious thing I’d ever seen!  I couldn’t believe how relieved I was to see the outline of the California coast from twenty miles out.  I finally felt like I had made it home!  I felt like even if we sank now, I could SWIM to shore…and I couldn’t swim!  It didn’t really matter, I was home and it was time to get on with life.  As we inched closer to the shore, they called for us to take our positions for offloading the amphibious tanks (called “AMTRACKS” or “TRACKS” or “AAV's”).  My job was the signalman in the tank deck.  I stood up in a little booth at the end of the deck, right by the ramp that led into the water.  When the Marine gave me the signal, I threw the switch and turned the “green” signal light on.  When the driver saw “green”, he hit the gas and plunged his Track into the water.  As soon as it hit the water, I threw the “red” switch, telling the next driver to wait for the all-clear.  It was an easy job, and I had an awesome view.  I got to watch the tanks hit the water, submerge for a second, then bob back up and start swimming for the beach.  Not something your average 18…no, 19…wait a minute, 20-year old from Wyoming got to do on a daily basis!

 As the number of Tracks in the tank deck began to dwindle, and the Marine presence whittled itself down to zero, things got a lot quieter for us.  It was amazing how much noise those Jarheads made!  When they were all off, we raised the ramp, secured from offloading the Marines, and started to clean up.  No sooner had we started that, than they called for Flight Quarters.  I ran up and took my position as the #1 plugman, and we proceeded to land three helos in rapid succession.  The helos took off the Marine CO and XO and brought a Fleet Admiral from the Pacific Command in San Diego on board.  He was there to welcome us home and give the Fresno a quick inspection.  We stood tall when he walked by, but to tell the truth, we could have cared less if he told us the ship was the worst looking thing he’d ever seen – we were going be home the next day, so we really didn’t care!  As luck would have it, we passed inspection and the Admiral got back onboard his helo and flew off to visit one of the other ships from our group.  Our CO thanked us for a job well done, and then we went back to wait for one last helo.

 The last helo that came aboard was one that a lot of guys were nervous about.  It carried the US Customs agents and their drug-sniffing dogs – supposedly.  The word was that the dogs had to inspect the ship for contraband – fruits, vegetables, drugs – anything that we weren’t supposed to be bringing into the US.  I wasn’t too worried about anything, until I remembered the stereo I’d brought back from Japan.  I wondered if I had to pay any duty or anything on it.  But before I could get too worked up about it, the agents had landed, and were ready to go again!  I don’t think they even left the main deck, to tell you the truth, and I don’t recall seeing any “drug dogs”, either.  If so, then it was the quickest inspection in the history of inspections.  I’m sure that if they’d have looked, they’d have found enough duty and import violations on board that ship to keep us quarantined for weeks, but I think they knew the game as well as we did – come aboard, say “hi” and leave.  Then they could officially say, “yup, we were on the Fresno” and we could say, “yup, the inspectors were here” and both be legally correct.  It was a nice way to smuggle a lot of illegal stuff into the States, and believe you me, there was a LOT of illegal stuff smuggled back into the United States on board that ship!

 No sooner had the inspectors left, and we had secured from Flight Quarters, than they called for “Sea and Anchor”.  We were going to anchor off the coast for the night, so we could steam into Los Angeles Harbor and home the next day.  So off with the flight deck gear, and down to starboard aftersteering, where I manned the helm and finished “training” GMSN Lusher on this particular watch station.  As I signed off his final qualification, I decided that, even though we weren’t secured from the evolution yet, they now HAD a qualified starboard aftersteering helmsman on post, so they didn’t need me!  I left the aftersteering compartment, and went up to stand with my Dad and brother as they watched the anchor drop from the signal bridge.  It was the first time I’d ever seen it from that vantage point – really a cool thing to see! 

 Once the anchor was down, we were sure we would get a break for a minute – we’d been going nonstop since 7:00, and it was almost 10:00!  Before we could all sit down for a minute, they passed the word that it was payday!  We didn’t mind this interruption as we all filed in, by social security number, to get our money.  I pulled in a royal $199 – more than enough to get me from Long Beach to Laramie, I thought – especially now that I didn’t have to stop in Evanston to pick up Janet…Janet – hmmmmm, first time I’d allowed myself to think about her in a couple of days.  What a bitch!  What a lousy thing to do!  I pushed her from my mind as they handed me my money, and I headed off to help secure our spaces and get ready for lunch.

 At lunch, Jon Grace sat next to me.  He told me that Doc had finally given him the “all clear” – he was disease free, and just in time!  The genuine relief in his voice was very evident, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it had all been a big joke.  I decided that I’d just let him stew in his own juices…maybe he’d think twice before playing the “big man on campus” again.  I seriously doubted it, but I got my satisfaction out of it, so what the Hell. 

 When we had finished eating, we took to the last detail before pulling in after six months at sea – cleaning and painting.  The CO wanted the ship looking good when we got home, so we cleaned, swabbed, polished and painted everything we could find, especially everything on the starboard side, since it would be the side we pulled up to the pier on.  Lord knows we wouldn’t want anybody seeing any rust or grime like we’d just come back from six months at sea!  We grumbled – mostly to ourselves – about it, but we cleaned and polished and painted, just glad to be doing something to take our minds off of the fact that we were going to be able to touch US soil and see our families and eat a REAL Big Mac again in just a few hours. 

 As “knock off ship’s work” echoed from the 1MC, they passed a word I hadn’t heard before.  The order for “Swim call from the stern gate” came out. 

 I was a bit confused at first, but when I went to the rear of the ship to check it out, I saw that they had lowered the stern gate, and guys were in their swimming gear, in the ocean, splashing around and having fun.  It looked like fun, but since I couldn’t swim, I had NO desire to join them.  As I was standing there watching them, I heard a voice behind me say,

 “There’s sharks in these waters, you know” 

 Surprised, I turned around to find our Captain standing directly behind me. 

 “Sharks, sir?” I said, surprised. 

 “That’s what I hear Gunny – how’s about providing a little protection for the boys?” 

 “Protection, Sir?” 

 “Yeah, why don’t you run down and get an M-14 and we’ll post a shark watch.  You’re a good shot, aren’t you?” 

 “Yes, Sir” 

 “Well then, go get the rifle, stand here and shoot any sharks you see, okay?” 

 “Yes, Sir!”. 

 I ran down to the armory, broke out an M-14, loaded a couple of spare magazines and ran back up to the doghouse to sit and watch for sharks.  What a feeling of power – sitting there with a loaded rifle, watching a bunch of my shipmates swim in shark-infested waters, with orders from my CO to shoot to kill!  The thought ran through my mind at the same time the guys in the water realized that I had a gun.  

 “Hey Pete – you ain’t mad at me are you?” 

 “We cool, Pete?” 

 The questions came as the guys realized how easy it was to yell “Shark” and pop off a round before anyone could question me.  And how easy would it have been to “miss the shark” and wing a swimmer instead?  And there was Jon Grace…in the water…farthest one out….hmmmmm.  The realization of WHAT I was thinking hit me about the time the fear of life in Leavenworth did, and I immediately shelved any notions of ultimate revenge, and started honestly looking for fins!  Besides, nobody had really pissed me off THAT bad, anyway! 

 Swim call lasted for maybe an hour, as it slowly turned into “Fishing Call”.  The rods and reels came out as the last swimmer toweled off, and I traded my rifle for a borrowed pole.  I don’t recall if I caught anything at all, but I do remember that HT3 Malis, the ship’s designated “Master Fisherman” had some luck – he caught a ray or something weird like that. 

 As the sun set, I left the fishing to the real pros, and I headed back up to eat a little and maybe watch some movies or shoot the bull with Dad.  Dinner was good – no steak and lobster, but still not bad.  As I recall, we had ice cream, which was a treat in itself!  After eating, I retired to the berthing area to watch a movie and spend my last night on the Fresno just hanging with my friends. 

 As I was getting settled in, they passed the word for me to go to the bridge again.  I put my shower shoes on and headed up to see what they needed.  I didn’t think they would do Bingo Night again, and I was right.  Tonight was “Pizza and Movie” night on the mess decks.  They were going to show all-night movies and make pizza on the mess decks.  They knew that very few of us were going to sleep anyway, so why not entertain us?  I thought it was a great idea, and grabbed the mic –

 “IIIIIIT’S PIZZA AND MOOOOOVIE NIGHT ON THE FRESNOOOOO…” 

 Once again, I did my best “Dr. Cheese”, and once again I received way too much adulation and support for my efforts.  It was nice to finally have an outstanding talent onboard the ship, however late it may have been discovered.

 I didn’t avail myself to the pizza and movies, instead I spent the time talking with Dad and hanging out with what was left of the guys in the MR shop – Pulling, Benton, Hick, Arrington, Sorby, Ford and a few others.  It was a great way to spend the last night together – very comfortable, very loose and very reassuring. 

 All of us were facing a new life when we got back, there were guys like Benton who had been married just before we left – he was headed back to be a married man for the first time.  Some guys were nearing the end of their time on the Fresno and would be sent to new duty stations.  Others, like me, were nearing their EAOS, and would be leaving the Navy for good.  Whatever awaited us, we had all shared something unique on board this old ship.  Being a member of the Fresno’s crew, we decided was both a blessing and a curse.  A blessing in the fact that her advanced age and predisposition for emergencies made us a lot tighter and calmer in a crisis, and a curse in the fact that hard living on board ship made for hard living on shore, and there were only a few lucky ones among us who didn’t have some sort of drinking issue.  We worked hard, we lived hard, and we played even harder.  We decided that we would wear the designation of “USS Fresno Sailor” as a badge of honor and distinction amongst all other sailors in the Navy.  You may have survived tough times, shipmate, but I SURVIVED THE FREZ!!

 As the hours wound toward midnight, talk of staying up all night soon gave way to yawns and droopy eyelids.  One by one, we found our way to our racks to catch a few hours’ sleep before the big day tomorrow.  One last night in that steel-bottomed rack.  One last night of being rocked to sleep by the sea.  One last night of hearing 32 other men snore you to sleep.  One last night of duty on the Frez.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO:  HOMECOMING!! or HOW NOT TO GET ON BASE

 

Thursday, 12JUL90

ñ  WELCOME HOME!!

 

JUL90:  Deployment day 171-182        Underway – 8 days     In Port – 4 days

 

The morning of July 12^th, 1990 was overcast.  But no matter HOW many clouds were in the sky, the sun shone brightly on the crew of the USS Fresno.  One day short of six months since we left the Long Beach Naval Station, the Fresno would be pulling back in, returning her crew to their families and home.  It had been an amazing time – we had seen things that most men our age had only dreamt about, and probably even some things they hadn’t thought of yet!  We had seen the snow on Mt. Fuji, the neon lights of Hong Kong and the jungle of Thailand.  We had seen Russian bombers, killer whales and sea snakes.  We had eaten balut, the fruit from Mars, and monkey-on-a-stick.  We had been screwed, tattooed and chewed in seven different countries.  But all of these memories took a back seat to the day before us – it was Homecoming, and that’s all we cared about.

 The early morning routine that day was the same as every morning for the past six months.  We pulled up anchor (okay, that was a bit different) and then went about our business of breakfast, quarters and daily reports.  We then finished up with our preparations for pulling into port – the lines were faked down on the deck, the gun mounts were secured and ammo locked down.  The signal flags were run up the mast and the bell was polished.  We found our way topside as Los Angeles Harbor slowly came into view.  Before long, we could make out the outline of the Queen Mary – a sure sign of home.  As she grew on the horizon, we could begin to see the outline of the retaining wall around the breakwater as well.  The butterflies began to pile up as we drew nearer and nearer to home. 

 It was at once, the slowest and the fastest trip into harbor I ever spent.  The slowest, because it seemed that for every yard we moved forward, the breakwater seemed to move two yards farther away, and the fastest, because I could see the past two years draw to a close.  I could feel the change in myself, and I knew that my life would never be the same.  My reverie was broken by BM3 Darryl Cravens, who shouted up at me from his station on the forecastle –

 “Hey Pete! You got your white hat ready?!” 

 I had almost forgotten about it!  After two years, it was time for me to honor the Navy tradition and throw MY white hat overboard to signify the end to my sea-going career. Since the tradition also said that if your dixie cup blew back on board the ship, you had to reenlist for another hitch, I made sure that would never happen.  I thought long and hard about how I would ensure the quick sinking of my hat, and I finally came up with the perfect choice – my one remaining boondocker!  The First Lieutenant had already proven that boondockers don’t float very well, and since its mate was already living on the seafloor, I decided to make it a matched pair.  With my Dad and Matt looking on, I put that old, worn out boondocker inside my white hat, said a quick thanks to King Neptune, reared back and let ‘er fly!  We all watched – and cheered as my hat sailed clear of the ship and splashed down about ten yards off the starboard beam.  It hit the water with a resounding “Splash!” and sank out of sight quickly.  That was it – it was all over.  I was free and clear – my white hat had been thrown, and my EAOS was upon me.  All that was left was to get into port and tie up to the pier.  I was done!

 This was it – the end of the road.  According to our cruise book tallies, over the last six months the Fresno had traveled 25,783 miles and used nearly a million gallons of fuel.  Her crew had eaten 8056 candy bars and had drunk 46,494 sodas and 44,800 gallons of coffee.  We had used 73,800 eggs and 18,000 rolls of the worst toilet paper money could buy.  The Pass Office had paid out $829,311.75 in payday cash to the crew.  

 Staggering numbers to be sure, but the only number that mattered now was one.  One more time at Sea and Anchor detail, one more time tying up to the pier. One more transfer of the flag to the fantail, and one more word to be passed over the 1MC.  That word was “Secure from WestPac” and there wasn’t a soul on board that didn’t have their ears wide open, just waiting to hear that Boatswain’s Pipe pierce the air, followed by the most welcome announcement we’d heard in six months.

 The tugs pulled up beside us and helped guide us toward the pier, and toward our friends and families who were patiently waiting.  As we drew closer and closer, the feelings of relief were evident all around.  We sailed past the USS Missouri and the USS New Jersey again, and our old home pier looked like heaven.  We could soon make out the people on the pier – there was Karen – Steve Haulin’s girlfriend.  Scotty Bale’s wife was there and so was Darryl Cravens’ wife and son, along with about a hundred other people.  Most had signs welcoming home their particular Fresno sailor, and they were waving flags and cheering as they began to be able to make out OUR faces on the ship. 

USS Fresno homecoming, Long Beach, CA - 12JUL90

Every Homecoming there was always one girl on the pier that caught the eye of everyone else – the gal who had dressed up (or down) the best to meet her sailor.  She would be the talk of the crew for months to come.  Stories ran rampant of gals wearing only raincoats and flashing the crew or wearing nothing but lingerie to welcome her man home.  The story on this Homecoming was the girl standing in the middle of the front row.  She was tall and had on a short dress.  She was absolutely gorgeous – thin, but very well-built and dressed, pressed and manicured to a “T”.  She was the most beautiful creature any of us had seen in six months.  We all wondered who she was – we couldn’t think of anyone on the ship who was lucky enough to be dating such an amazing creature.  That’s when we saw her sign – “Welcome Home Dave Benton”.  Dave Benton?  Was THAT Benton’s wife?  It was!  We were shocked – she had lost probably 50 pounds since we had left and had undergone some amazing changes in style.  The most shocked of us all was Dave himself.  He didn’t recognize her at first, but the closer he looked, the luckier he got.  I thought he was going to explode when he realized that THAT was his wife!  It was one of the most amazing transformations I have ever seen.  She went from being a kind of frumpy plain Jane to being an absolute knockout in six months!  I stood and stared with the rest of the crew, jealous as Hell of Dave.  My thoughts immediately turned to Janet.  I wished she could have been here to welcome me home.  I made a mental note to call her before we left Long Beach, and then turned to the business at hand – Homecoming.

 As the crowd cheered, we sent our mooring lines over and tied off the ship to the pier.  Deck Department heaved the lines back on board and tied them up, and a waiting crane lowered the gangplank into place.  Once the lines were tied off, and the gangplank was secured, the at-sea flags were lowered and a bosun’s pipe’s shrill sound pierced the air.  It was followed by the words we’d been waiting six long months to hear from the 1MC…

 

”SECURE FROM WEST PAC 1990.  LIBERTY CALL, LIBERTY CALL….”

 

 The cheer from onboard  was twice as loud as the cheer from those waiting on the pier.  It was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard.  Not only did it signify the end of our deployment, but it signified the end of my active duty service.  I’d be lying if I said there weren’t tears in my eyes.  I had made it – I had survived the Navy.  It was the most monumental achievement of my young life, and I had seen it through!  I gave my Dad a hug and my brother, too.  I was about to become a civilian once again – just as soon as I could get off of the base.

 They opened the gangplank a minute later – and the families swarmed onboard the ship.  Tearful reunions were the order of the day as wives, girlfriends and children hugged and kissed sailors everywhere.  It was a great moment to be a part of.  I didn’t have anyone waiting on the pier for me, but I came down and gave Steve Haulin’s girlfriend, Karen, a hug anyway.  I then went over and gave Dave Benton’s wife a hug (had to stand in line for that one).  I walked around and shook hands with all of my friends and wished them “Fair winds and following seas” as I left the Fresno for good.  It was really kind of sad to say goodbye to guys like Jerry Ford and Darryl Cravens.  Friends like Scotty Bale and Bob Powell and even Downtown Braun and Phil Darkbull.  The other Sea College guys had already left – Munderson, Derkins and Barris.  Their EAOS’s were a few weeks ahead of mine, so they were all at home getting ready for the start of their freshman years in college.  I said goodbye to Jim Lusher and Jon Grace, even Will and Muna got a handshake.  I was just glad to be going home and believe it or not, I would miss all of them.  All that was left to do now was to get my gear off of the Fresno and onto the pier.

 As soon as he could get off of the ship, Dad took off for the main gate of the base, where he called a cab to take him to his truck, which was parked at the train yards in L.A..  While he was off doing that, Matt and I hauled all my gear from the armory out onto the pier.  It was amazing how much stuff I’d accumulated in a little under two years.  Of course I had the new stereo and speakers (which took up three big boxes), but I also had a seabag, a garment bag, a suitcase and a couple of smaller bags full of clothes and gear.  Plus the bags that Matt and Dad had brought.  By the time we had it all on the pier it looked like a small mountain, and I was beginning to seriously wonder how we were going to fit it all in the back of the truck.  At that point, however, I wasn’t really worried about it.  I was out of the Navy – if need be, I would just throw some stuff away.  I didn’t care, I just wanted to go home.  After we had everything sitting on the pier, I left Matt sitting on top of the pile to watch it, and I headed off to the Main Gate to get Dad’s truck checked on the base so we could load up.

 I made the half mile walk from the pier to the gate in no time – I was excited as Hell to be getting out of there.  Dad had just parked the truck when I walked inside the guard shack to get his on-base permit.  The two of us walked up to the desk and told the MP on duty that we needed to get Dad’s truck on base to get my stuff.  He asked to see Dad’s proof of insurance, driver’s license and my ID card.  No problem, I thought, as we produced the necessary documents.  The MP looked at the insurance card and Dad’s driver’s license, wrote down the info on the pass, then picked up my ID card.  He looked at it, then looked again, then he looked up at me. 

 “I can’t let you on the base” he said. 

 “WHAT?” I asked, incredulously. 

 “Your ID card is expired.” 

 “My WHAT?” 

 “Your ID card expired yesterday – I can’t let you on this base.” 

 Then it hit me – my EAOS had been officially yesterday.  I had extended one day to finish out WestPac, and had neglected to get a new ID card in Pearl Harbor.  I tried to explain this to the MP –

 “Yeah, well, funny thing – my ship just got back from WestPac THIS MORNING, and I extended a day.  Now I need to get my stuff off of the pier so I can go home.  So just give me that pass, and I’ll get my stuff and leave your base, okay?” 

 “No.  Your ID is expired.  I can’t let you on the base.” 

 It was like trying to talk to a brick wall. 

 “Look – my twelve-year-old brother is sitting on the pier on top of all my stuff.  All I want to do is go get him and my gear and I’m out of the Navy.  You’ll never see me again.  Just sign the damn pass!” 

 I was really starting to get mad now. 

 “No.  Your ID is expired, I cant’ let you on the base.” 

 I couldn’t believe that the Navy was going to keep screwing me right up to the bitter end.  But by this point, I had had my fill of it.  I was no longer worried about making anyone mad, and I had absolutely nothing to lose.  I was beginning to wind up and launch into a tirade of monumental proportions, when my Dad finally got involved.  Dad’s temper and inability to deal with ineptitude were legendary in our family.  I had tried my best to spare this poor, dumb kid the “wrath of Dad”, but now he deserved it.  I stepped aside and let Dad go.

 “Look you stupid little shit – I need to get on that base.  My twelve-year old son is sitting on the pier with all of my other son’s shit.  Now, either you let me on, or let me talk to your Commanding Officer.  But I’m getting on that base.” 

 “No sir – not with an expired ID card.  I can’t let you on this Naval Installation.”  

 “LET ME TALK TO YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER, AND I DON’T MEAN YOUR FIRST CLASS…I WANT TO TALK TO THE GODDAMN BASE C.O.,  NOW!!!” 

 Dad had enough.  It was time for war!  The MP blinked first,

 “Calm down Sir, I’ll get my supervisor”. 

 At that precise moment, a First Class Master At Arms came out of the back office. 

 "What seems to be the problem?” he made the mistake of asking. 

 Before the MP could open his mouth, Dad volunteered the information. 

 “This fucking idiot you’ve got working for you won’t let me on the base”. 

 I jumped in to provide a little background info before things got any uglier

 “He says my ID card is expired, which it is, BUT I just got back from WestPac a couple of hours ago, and all of my gear and my little brother are sitting on the pier waiting for us to come get them.  I just want to load up and leave.  Is that so hard to understand?” 

 The First Class looked at his MP – “Is this right?  Is his ID Card expired?” 

 “Yes, Sir”

 “Well then there’s nothing I can do.  I can’t let you on the base with an expired ID Card.” 

 I winced as soon as he said it, because I knew what was coming next, and they didn’t.  It was time for the “eruption of Mount St. Dad.”

 “LOOK YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKERS – MY TWELVE-YEAR OLD SON IS SITTING ON THAT BASE, AND NOW YOU’RE TELLING ME I CAN’T GO GET  HIM?  BULLSHIT! I’VE GOT A .45 IN MY TRUCK THAT SAYS I’M GETTING ON THIS GODDAMN BASE!”

 He turned to storm out of the guard shack. 

 The look of sudden panic was evident on the faces of the MP’s.  I wasn’t sure if Dad did or didn’t have a .45 in his truck, but I didn’t really want to find out the hard way.  As the MP’s scrambled to grab their M-16’s and tried to form a human blockade across the gate, I ran out to catch Dad. 

 “Get in the damn truck.” He snapped at me. 

 “Do you really have a .45?” I asked. 

 “No, but they don’t know that – we’re getting on that damn base if I have to talk to the base CO himself!” 

 I braced myself for the worst as Dad fired up the Ram and turned toward the gate.  By now, there were three or four guys with M-16s standing in front of the gate and had them pointed toward us.  I closed my eyes and waited for the worst – I couldn’t believe that I had survived two years of active duty, only to be shot down by trigger-happy base MP’s an hour after I got out of the Navy.  We drove up to the gate, and right before he hit the first MP, Dad slammed on the brakes.  An MP ran up to his window with his M-16 at the ready. 

 “SIR, GET OUT OF THE CAR!”  He barked. 

 Dad looked at him –

 “NOW we’re getting somewhere!” he said and opened the door and stepped out. 

 I was confused for a second, then realized that Dad was just showing them how serious he was about getting on the base.  We walked back into the guard shack (with an armed escort this time) and talked once again to the First Class on duty.  Dad looked at him –

 “So, am I getting on this base, or are you gonna call the CO?” 

 The First Class wavered for a second, then looked out at the gate.  Dad’s Ram was parked right in front of the gate, blocking all of the traffic trying to get in, and the cars were starting to stack up behind him.  Before he began a riot at the Main Gate, the First Class had a sudden change of heart.  He looked at one of the guys with the M-16s,

 “You get in your car and follow them.  Make sure they go directly to the pier, get their stuff and leave the base.  Don’t let them go anywhere else – if they do, you have permission to shoot.” 

 Dad just laughed,  “Thank you” he said, VERY sarcastically. 

 We walked out, got in the Ram and were waved right through the gate.  We drove down to the pier, backed up and parked to load our gear.  Presently, a Toyota pickup carrying two MP’s showed up to watch us. 

 Matt asked us what had taken us so long, and we told him we’d explain on the way.  The three of us grabbed boxes and bags and just threw them into the truck, as we speed-loaded it so we could get the Hell out of there.  When we had the whole pile shoved in, there wasn’t much room for anything else, and I felt sorry for Matt who had a very cramped 1000 mile trip back to Wyoming in that small backseat.  Oh well, he was twelve – he’d get over it. 

 After we loaded the last box, I yelled up to the ship and said my final farewells to the guys who answered.  I hadn’t spent much time with goodbyes or exchanging addresses, it was just kind of that way.  Guys came and went so often in the military that you just never really got that attached to anyone.  We closed the back hatch of the Ram, and Matt and Dad climbed in.  I stood on the pier and cast one last look at the USS Fresno.  She stood there, a bit rusty, a bit worn, but looking proud nonetheless.  I was proud to have been part of her crew.  I truly felt as though I would carry part of her with me forever.  I was proud to have been a Fresno sailor, and I hoped the Fresno was proud to have had me.  It had been a long two years – I had seen some really crazy times, but she had made a man out of me.  I looked at that rust-stained 1-1-8-2 on her side, then turned to look at those Wyoming license plates on the Ram.  I chose Wyoming. 

 I climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door.  Dad turned the key and fired the engine.  He put it into drive, and we pulled away from the pier.  As we passed the MP’s in their Toyota who had sat and watched our every move, we gave them a well-deserved one-finger wave.  Jerks.  I turned and watched the Fresno disappear.  We made it through the gate and around the corner before I lost complete sight of her.  There was a definite feeling of loss, but it was quickly replaced by a feeling of pride and accomplishment, as I sat back in the seat and watched the road ahead wind into the distance.  That road was my future – wide open, with no destination in sight.  The Navy was now behind me – my future was waiting.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE:  LONG BEACH TO SACRAMENTO TO LARAMIE

 – HOME AT LAST!

 

I don’t remember much about the trip from Long Beach to my aunt’s house in Sacramento.  I just remember that it seemed like a very short trip.  I spent most of it looking out the window watching things go by, feeling like I had been given a second chance.  I imagined that I felt much like a man just released from prison.  No longer would someone be there to tell me what to do 24 hours a day.  I was my own man now, and I could go and do whatever I wanted.  It was a good feeling, and I was determined to make it count.  I had enjoyed a lot of the time I spent in the military but there were parts of it I hated.  I was looking forward to getting home and starting college and making my life my own.  I knew that from here on out, it was all up to me.  But I also knew that I now had a wealth of life experiences to draw from when difficult decisions or situations confronted me.  I was ready for it all! 

 We pulled into my aunt’s house in Roseville, CA (just east of Sacramento) and we all got out.  I was feeling great.  Sandra and John were waiting, as was Grandma Pete.  I had stayed in my dress whites, so that they could see me in my uniform for the first, and last, time.  It was a great homecoming – a very fitting way to end that day.  Grandma was so proud of me that she cried – she told me that I looked just like my Dad had when he came home from the Navy.  That really meant a lot to me.  After my Dad, Grandma Pete was my other hero.  She was the toughest, kindest lady I knew, and having her say that meant the world to me.  We spent the night talking and sharing stories about my adventures.  They offered me a beer, which was yet another "coming of age" moment for me.  It was a lot of fun.  I finally felt sleep beginning to creep up to me, and I realized that I had meant to call Janet and had forgotten all about it.  I decided to try tomorrow, and I excused myself and turned into bed.  It was a real bed – no steel-bottomed rack for me!  I think that may possibly have been the most restful night that I ever spent in a bed.  I slept like a rock.  A very big, very heavy, very tired rock.

Last picture of GMG3 Peterson in his active duty dress whites - 12JUL90

 Old habits die hard, and I woke up at 06:30 sharp.  I wandered out to the kitchen to find some coffee to help clear the cobwebs.  I had the pot brewing and a cup poured before anybody else made it out to join me.  It was my first full day as a civilian in two years, and I was ready to enjoy every second of it!  Soon, everyone was up and about and we spent the day touring Sacramento.  We spent a long time at the railroad museum, and then we drove past Folsom Prison and the big dam right above it.  It was a nice, relaxing day and I thoroughly enjoyed it.  As the sun set, I began to notice that I was feeling a little queasy.  My throat was hurting a bit, and I had developed a little bit of a fever.  I chalked it up to excitement and shrugged it off as we ate dinner and sat and talked for a couple more hours.  By the time we went to bed I knew something was definitely wrong – I was sick.  I didn’t know what I had, but I knew that I didn’t feel like myself.  I pushed the thought out of my mind and went to bed.  That wonderful bed – that wonderful, soft civilian bed.  Ahhhhh – I slept like a baby yet again.

 We woke up early the next morning again, set to hit the road home to Laramie.  I didn’t feel too bad, so I decided that it was just some weird one-night sickness.  Matt folded himself into the backseat, and Dad and I climbed in the Ramcharger.  We waved goodbye to everyone then pulled out of the driveway and found our way over to Interstate 80 East.  Once on the Interstate, we set the cruise control and coasted East for 1000 miles and about 16 hours.  Dad and I took turns driving, and we did it straight through. 

The only hitch in our git-along was when we drove past the exit for Evanston, WY.  I thought of Janet, and the fact that I hadn’t called her yet, and the fact that I was supposed to be stopping there to be with her…in a perfect world.  But this world was far from perfect, and we kept it moving on, quickly putting Evanston – and Janet – in our rearview mirror.  It was a bitter pill to swallow, but as much as I didn’t want it to, life kept on going. 

 Before I knew it, we were just a few miles outside of Laramie.  Dad pulled over and let me drive into town.  It was great – I felt like a conquering hero returning home.  I had left Laramie an insecure, shy boy and had returned an outgoing, tattooed military vet, ready to set the world on it’s ear!  I was proud as I could be as I piloted the Ram down Reynolds Street.  I made the left turn that curved around and became Cartes Street.  2113…2115…2117…there it was – 2119 Cartes!  Home at last!  Two long years after I had left, I had finally returned home.  I pulled up into the driveway, put it in park and opened the door.  As I stepped into the cool Wyoming night air, I felt free and at ease.  It was time to get on with life – I had made it! 

 Mom came out to hug me and welcome me home – it was yet another great moment in a week full of them.  We weren’t in much of a hurry to unload the truck, it would wait for the morning.  Matt, Dad, Mom and I sat and talked until it was time to go to bed.  I went downstairs and fell into my old waterbed, which Matt had been so kind as to let me have back for the moment.  I was finally home – the Navy was now part of my past – something to tell stories to my kids about.  I had survived the worst it could dish out, and I was a forever changed man because of it.  Some of the changes were better than others, but they were changes nonetheless.  It was hard to put it all into perspective then, but I knew that my life would be different from now on.  I fell asleep just knowing that the weak, shy little boy from Wyoming was gone forever - replaced by a strong, confident man of the world.  It was a good feeling.  A very good feeling.

 Before I could get on with life, however, I had to deal with one last hurdle.  I woke up the next morning, sicker than a dog.  I was nauseous, had a fever and felt like a ton of crap.  Mom made a doctor’s appointment for me, and the results of those tests were a shock.  The doc told me that I had caught mononucleosis somewhere in my travels.  I tried hard to think of where I would have caught it – The last girl I had “contact” with had been in Thailand, over a month ago.  Surely if I’d have caught it from her I’d have known it by now.  I tried to think of where else I could have caught it and then I remembered Latch.  Latch was one of the Marines who I hung out with in the MR shop.  He had bragged to us all about the girl he had hooked up with in Hawaii, and we had all made fun of him when he started feeling sick a couple of days later.  Sure enough, Latch was diagnosed with mono.  I then remembered sharing a soda with him (before we knew he had mono, of course). That was it!  I had made it six months overseas, doing things that would, and did, make a sailor blush with shame, and I hadn’t caught a thing.  But a week away from home, I shared a soda with a buddy, and now I had mono!  What a fitting end to my Navy service.  I spent the next week at my folks’ house, sick in bed.  I was finally home, and even before I could go see my friends, or move into my new apartment I had to get over mono.  Damn Navy anyhow!

 Soon enough, however, I was feeling better.  I moved into an apartment with my old high school friend, Paul Fechtmeister.  I got officially enrolled in college, and I went to Freshman Orientation week, where I was voted “most spirited leg” for my Filipino UW tattoo.  I tried to call Janet a couple of times but was told that she wasn’t home, or couldn’t talk.  I just tried to put her out of my mind as best I could. 

 About two weeks later, as the school year neared, the university's pre-season marching band camp began.  I had declared my major as Music Education, and since I had signed up to be in UW’s marching band, I soon found myself marching in formation once again, with an incredible feeling of boot camp déjà vu haunting my mind!  At least no one was making me do push-ups this time, though!  A couple of days into band camp, a bunch of us were sitting around talking, and I struck up a conversation with a girl named Cecilia Bayden.  Her name was familiar, and I soon figured out why – Cecilia had been Janet’s roommate the year before!  She said that she knew who I was through the letters and pictures I had sent to Janet.  I knew from Janet’s letters that the two of them didn’t really get along too well, but I decided to ask Cecilia if she knew what had happened anyway.  In her answer, I got the shock of my young life.

 I told Cecilia what Janet had done,

 “She just told me that she knew I wasn’t ready to get married and that she was transferring to a college in Utah” I said. 

 Cecilia looked at me and said, “Oh man, do I have a story for you!” 

 And then she proceeded to tell me the truth. Evidently, after UW had let out for the summer, in mid-May, Janet had gone home to Evanston.  While there, she had met a different guy.  They had fallen in love and had decided to get married.  The catch to it was that he was a Mormon, and Janet wasn’t.  So not only did she decide to marry him, but she had decided to convert to Mormonism, and move to Utah.  This whole scenario rocked my world, as I realized that the whole time she was with this guy, Janet was still writing me and telling me how much she was looking forward to seeing me and spending time with me and even living with me!  Then Cecilia added the coupe de grace.  I asked her when the wedding was supposed to be, thinking that maybe I still had a chance to change her mind, and Cecilia looked at me blankly. 

 “They got married about a month ago.  Janet’s pregnant.”

 My world crashed in.  I realized that everything Janet had told me over the last three months of WestPac had been a complete lie.  My entire future plan had been shattered.  I was absolutely dumbstruck.  I didn’t know what to say – I just got up and walked off.  I found my way to a liquor store, where I bought a fifth of Jim Beam and a twelve pack of Budweiser.  I then went home and shut myself in my bedroom, where I wrote Janet a long letter telling her that I knew all about what she had done, and how unhappy I was about it.  I put a stamp on it, put it in the mailbox, then sat on my bed and got absolutely hammered.  I passed out somewhere around midnight, swearing that I’d never let another woman do that to me again.  It didn’t quite work out that way, but it sure sounded good at the time.

 The next couple of months went by quickly, as I settled into the routine of college and civilian life once again.  About the only part of my Navy life that I had held onto was the short haircut and the nightly drinking binges.  I managed to blow through all of the $5000 I had put aside during deployment my first semester, and by the time I had paid tuition for my second semester of school, I had $16 left in my account.  It was a party for sure, but I had to learn the hard way that things just aren’t the same in civilian life as they are in the military.  In the military, if you buy the booze one night, then your buds will buy the next night.  In college life, if you buy booze one night, then your buds hope you have the money to buy again the next night.  And I did – for the first semester anyway.  All of my savings PLUS the $675 a month I got from my Sea College money down the drain, and I still wasn’t legal drinking age! 

 I did manage to get a job as a bouncer in a local bar and dance club, but I couldn’t drink after work.  That was hard to get used to – I had just spent two years defending my country, and drinking at every bar I saw, and now I couldn’t even buy a beer!  Some places were cool and sold to me anyway, and there was always somebody throwing a party, but I was forced to learn the hard way that there was a big difference between military life, where everything was paid for and taken care of, and civilian life where you had to come up with rent and utilities and groceries every month.  It was a lesson in money management that I didn’t learn fully for quite some time.

 Around the middle of October, I got a registered letter in the mail.  It was mangled and torn up – the Post Office had dropped it in a machine or something, but I managed to straighten it out enough to read the return address – The Department Of The Navy.  For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was – it was too small to be my Shellback Certificate, which I still hadn’t received, but it didn’t look like an overly friendly letter.  I opened it with hesitation, fearing the worst – that I’d been recalled to active duty for some reason.  Things in the Persian Gulf had been heating up, and I had been nervously monitoring the situation.  I knew that they had stopped letting guys out of active duty about a month after I got out, so I braced myself for the absolute worst.  The letter wasn’t far off, actually.  It said that I had two weeks to affiliate with a Naval Reserve Center in my area, or I WOULD be recalled to active duty for not fulfilling the conditions of my Sea College contract. 

 Evidently, I was supposed to have affiliated with the Reserves within 90 days from my release from Active Duty.  I hadn’t read that part – as a matter of fact, I had put all of the papers they gave me when I left the Fresno in an envelope, which I promptly put in my seabag, where it STILL sat – unopened and unread.  The letter I now held in my hands promised dire circumstances if I didn’t get ahold of the Navy NOW.  With Operation Desert Shield in full swing, I knew they wouldn’t hesitate to recall me immediately.  I didn’t want that, so I called the 1-800 number in the letter and found out that my nearest Reserve Center was in Cheyenne.  I got the number and called them up.  They told me to come over the next day and they would get me signed up and off the Navy’s shit list.  The guy at the Reserve Center told me that not only was the Navy getting all of their ducks in a row because of the possibility of war, but they were also still looking for a way to get out of paying my Sea College money. Evidently, in their eyes, my refusal to affiliate with a Reserve Center was a prime reason to cut my benefits. 

 I couldn’t let that happen, so first thing the next morning, I jumped in my car and drove the 50 miles over to Cheyenne, where I found the Naval Reserve Center (it was on a street named “Ocean Loop”, oddly enough) and turned in my paperwork.  My Navy career wasn’t over yet – I still had four more years to go in the Navy Reserves.  I had kind of hoped that I wouldn’t have to go through with it, since the recruiters had told me that I didn’t have to do the weekend drill thing, but here I was.  I was about to begin the next (and last, I hoped) part of my Naval odyssey – The Navy Reserves.

We'll chronicle that in Part Ten - The Reserves