Norm's Navy Days
14 Sept 51 to 9 Sept 55
3 years 11 months and 21 days (but who was counting?)
After my first year at Oregon State College I didn’t have enough money saved to return to college in the fall of 1951. At that time the
Korean War was going full tilt. By not returning to college I no longer had a student deferment. A friend of the family was on the local
draft board and he told me that my name was coming up in about 10 days. Being reasonably intelligent, I decided to join the Navy. My
reasoning was that in the Army or Marines there was a stronger likelihood of getting killed. Conditions on the battlegrounds of Korea
were miserable and in the Navy you had, at least, a warm bed and hot meals most of the time. I also had a greater affinity for the
ocean than I did for frozen or muddy foxholes.
Saying goodbye to my family, I took a bus to Portland where they gave me a physical, I took the oath and was now a sailor. My sister,
Vicki, told me years later that my mom was very concerned about my safety. My mother never let on she was worried, even after I
was on board a ship off the Korean coast.
After being sworn in, we rode a bus to San Diego Naval Training Center (NTC) for boot camp. After the obligatory haircut, issue of
clothes and demeaning indoctrination about what scum we were, I was assigned to a Recruit Company, commanded by Chief Petty
Officer Sammy Adams, who refreshed our minds about our scummliness. He assured us that survivors would be sailors fit for service
in his Navy. There were times later when he wasn’t so sure.
When the ground rules were laid down and the training commenced,
I started to think that this Navy stuff might have been a mistake.
I distinctly remember sitting on the asphalt washing my skivvies in a bucket and deciding, "No. I volunteered. It was my idea to do this
so it MUST have been the right thing to do." How’s that for confidence? I decided to think of this 11 weeks as just a glorified Boy Scout
camping experience. Actually, my scouting experience was useful. I knew how to tie all the knots, how to march (left face, right face,
to the rear march, etc), points of the compass, rudimentary navigation, etc. All of these things were taught in Boot Camp, so I had a
head start on many of the recruits.
The recruit company had 80 people in it. Sammy asked who had any military experience, including college ROTC. I had one year and
was immediately promoted to Recruit Asst. Company Commander. Another guy had two years and he was assigned the Recruit
Company Commander position. (Fig.1)
This was somewhat of a mixed blessing. The good part was that the recruit officers didn’t have to carry a phony rifle when we
marched. We were issued very dull sabers and fancy sword belts and scabbards. . We also were given lighter duties most of the time.
When our company had its week of mess-hall duty, my job was to let the troops in the door, assuring that they came in when they were
supposed to. Big deal, but it beat slinging hash, peeling potatoes, scrubbing floors, (oops, make that "swabbing the deck"), or
washing dishes. The bad part was when anybody in the company screwed up, we got our asses chewed first. We were supposed to
make sure things were done correctly, even though we had little to no authority nor any ability to discipline anyone.
Compared to the Army or Marine boot camps the Navy’s was a cakewalk. The hardest part was staying awake in the boring classes
taught by boring sailors. Except for the instructions on "Right shoulder arms! Left shoulder arms, Present arms etc." we had very little
in the way of firearm training. We spent one morning on the firing range. I think we marched more than we did anything else. Hup, 2,
3, 4, Hup etc. One of my "duties" was to call cadence when we marched, "Gimme yo left, right, left."After about 4 weeks we were allowed "liberty" for one day/week, either Sat. or Sun.
My most memorable recollection of advise that Sammy gave us was, "Stay out of bars and whorehouses. Remember, you can have fun with girls who go to church too!"
Another vivid memory of Sammy was during an inspection of our quarters, in the head, he came in, looked around and bellowed, "This place smells like a shithouse!" Duh, Sammy, what did you expect, a rose garden? Actually Sammy was a pretty nice guy, more bark than bite.
In retrospect, my boot camp experience was interesting. Before going into the Navy, I thought the Civil War was over. Wrong, wrong,
wrong. The 80 recruits were from all over the US: black, white, yellow, northerners, southerners, big-city and country and small town
hicks (like me). There were near riotous scuffles and dustups, mostly instigated by southerners about some perceived slight to the
Confederacy.
Apparently, Navy tradition was that blacks were best suited to be flag bearers or stewards mates (servants for officers). Our flag
bearer, a scrawny little black guy, got drunk one night on liberty and came back noisy and looking for a fight. I was on duty in the Co.
office. I told him to knock it off and quiet down. He drew a switchblade knife and said something about my liver. I was standing near a
corner where my saber was hanging on a coat hook. I grabbed it and in my best Crocodile Dundee impersonation I said, "You sure
you really want to have a knife fight?" He reckoned he didn’t, shut up and went to bed. The saber was so dull it wouldn’t cut anything,
but I probably could have clubbed him with it.
Someone in our Company came down with a mysterious disease that was suspected to be spinal meningitis and we were quarantined
for about 2 weeks at the end of our training. We stayed in our barracks during most of this time, leaving only for meals. We ate after
all the rest of the recruits had finished. Our plates and utensils were kept separate and sterilized after each meal. There was a
possibility that we wouldn’t graduate on schedule, but it turned out that we finished with the rest of the companies.
I made some good friends during sonar school. None of us had much in the way of money. Seamen Apprentice didn’t make much at
all. But we had enough for bus fare to go to La Jolla and the beach. My buddies MacDonald, Schezventer, a guy whose last name was
Gay, and a couple whose names I’ve forgotten would go to the beach on weekends and skin dive at the "Cove." This was from January
to July, when the water temperatures were about 50 degrees F. (Fig.2)
We couldn’t afford anything fancy like dry suits (wet suits weren’t invented yet) so we wore wool sweaters, which offered little other
than psychological warmth. In those days we were allowed to build fires on the beach at "The Cove."
(An aside: For years I had wanted to go skin diving. When I was in high school I would go down to the river across the railroad tracks
from our house and try to spear catfish or chubs. I think I had seen a movie with divers grappling with giant fish and thought it looked
like fun.)
With fins, mask, gloves, and Navy paint-scrapers for abalone irons we would dive for "abs" and lobsters ("bugs"). After a while we
abandoned using the paint-scrapers and just used our hands for getting abs. It was a little trickier but we thought it was more macho
to use no tools. When we had a weekend liberty sometimes we traveled a little bit farther north from The Cove and asked permission
from some homeowners to cross their property and camp on a boulder beach. The water depth in this part of the bay was shallow and
gradually deepened to about 50 feet as it approached near The Cove, where the kelp beds started. In the shallower waters we could
float on the surface and see abs in clusters and in plain sight. Local divers didn’t visit this area very often. We competed to see who
could get the most abalone on one dive. I got 5 on one dive but the record was 6 by my buddy Schez. He could stay submerged for
almost 2 minutes. We’d build a fire and cook the fish or abs over the open fire. A few times we brought blankets and slept over night.
It wasn’t very comfortable. We often gave the people whose property we crossed some fish or abs.
The high point of this diving was when we built a raft from driftwood and christened it "Kon Tiki" (Fig.3) paddled it about a mile or so
to a position a hundred yards, or so, off The Cove.
A bunch
of abalone on the "Kon Tiki" and us cleaning and pounding
the abalone.
We tied it to some kelp and then started to look for fish to spear. By this time we had saved money and bought some rubber-powered
spear guns. The spears were attached to the guns by a 15-ft line about 100-lb. test. There were four of us and we had 3 spearguns. In
the kelp we saw a huge black sea bass. (Fig.4)
Mac and I dove on it, I speared it first and was taken on a short but swift underwater "Nantucket sleigh ride" I was about to let go
because I was running out of breath when Shez grabbed the speargun and took over. The third guy relieved Shez and then the sea
bass tangled itself in the kelp and on the next dive we killed it with another spear. Since we were so close to the girl-infested Cove we
just had to beach KonTiki with our catch to show off a little bit before we paddled back to camp. The fish weighed about 100 lbs. We
filleted it and gave most of it to the property owners.
There was a little out-of-the-way bar between La Jolla and Sonar School that didn’t check IDs. Because I wasn’t 21, it was a place to
have a beer before returning to the base. It had an "all you can eat for a couple of bucks" buffet as a real bonus for cash-strapped
sailors. We would often have little to eat all day while diving and wouldn’t be able to get back to base in time for chow. Starvation
wasn’t an option. I suspect the proprietors of the bar weren’t too happy to see us coming. They had a TV and would tune in on the
fights. A heavyweight championship fight was scheduled so we made a special trip out there, got settled in, bought a beer, started to
munch down on the free popcorn, looked up, and the fight was over, a knockout in the first minute or two of the first round.
When we couldn’t afford that buffet we stoked up on $0.19 hamburgers (small bun, mustard, and small patty) "Where’s the beef" in
the truest sense.
As was the custom in the Navy, after graduating from a school and if you weren’t already assigned to a ship or base, you got to choose
from available duty-stations based on your class standing. I was somewhere in the top 20%, and I had some choice. Most of the
assignments were on destroyers or destroyer escorts, a couple of carriers, and a couple of shore bases. It was about this time I found
out that you couldn’t go from one Class A school to another one. You had to spend some time in the fleet before you go to another
school. I had hoped to go to submarine school but this wasn’t an option. I didn’t want to be stuck in one place so I rejected a shore
base. I had been in the Navy long enough to know that carriers and other big ships had lots of high-ranking officers with the attendant
"horse shit and gun smoke," the Navy term for lots of rules, regulations and spit-and-polish nonsense. This narrowed the choice down
to a destroyer or destroyer escort (a smaller version of a destroyer). I looked at where the ship would be when I reported for duty.
Several of them were in Honolulu. Hey, that sounded good. They might be stationed there or were there on the way back from Korea.
This might mean a longer time in the States before going back to Korea. I chose the McDermut (DD-677)on that basis. (Fig.5)
After a short leave, I went to San Francisco to board a MATS (military air transport service) plane. It turned out to be an amphibious
plane, a PBY. We took off just as the sun was going down and the silhouette of the Golden Gate Bridge was unforgettable.
We sat in seats with the back toward the fuselage of the plane. The seats were sort of like cargo net but with broad flat straps, not a
very comfortable ride.
When I reported to the McDermut (DD677) I found that it was leaving the next day for Japan and then on to Korea for patrols. So much
for my logical basis for choosing this ship. I managed to maximize the amount of time I could be in Korea.
I soon found Sonarman had been a good choice. It was a technical rate and duties didn’t include much in the way of "deck ape"
activities---swabbing, scraping and painting decks and other exterior surfaces of the ship, few "spit and polish" activities. We had to
maintain our own little cubbyhole—the "soundshack" and our other compartment that contained some of the electronic gear.
Advancement depended upon time-in-rank and passing the written exam. In the non-technical rates, like the Boson’s and Gunner’s
Mates, you had those requirements plus there had to be positions available and this was determined in a "fleet wide" competition. The
Navy was up to its ears in those rates, so even if they passed the tests it might be years before they advanced. In sonar, all you had to
do was pass the test and you got promoted because the Navy was short of people in sonar. The sequence of the rates for enlisted men
was Recruit, Seaman Apprentice, Seaman and the Petty Officers, which in my case was Sonarman 3rd class, Sonarman 2nd class,
Sonarman 1st class and Chief Petty Officer (CPO). The time-in-rank qualifications precluded me from taking the test for CPO. I would
have had to re-enlist for that (Fat Chance!) I mustered out as a Sonarman 1st Class Petty Officer.
For the first few months my sleeping compartment was in the bow of the boat. When in rough seas we’d pitch up and down like on a
roller coaster. The chain locker for the anchors was forward of my bunk. When the anchor dropped the first time I was in my bunk and
I thought we had been torpedoed or run aground. Such a racket! Later, I moved to the aft sleeping compartment. The compartment
was larger and more comfortable but when travelling fast and in rough seas the props would sometimes come partially out of the
water with a horrendous shudder.
I quickly made Sonarman 3rd class and this came with more privileges. Petty Officers didn’t have to do such demeaning things as
galley duty, most work-parties (unless all hands were called), cleaning sleeping compartments, etc. We had to stand "quarter-deck"
watches when we were in port. This meant we stood watch for a 4 hour on and 8 hours off when we had "the duty." We made entries
into the ship’s log, which recorded anything that happened—boats leaving, people going on or off the ship, refueling, work parties
leaving or returning, any trouble or just about everything that happened. When in a foreign port we also went ashore as Shore Patrol
Police. When at sea, we stood sonar watches, usually 4 on, 8 off to operate the sonar gear, scanning for submarines or recording
depth soundings on a fathometer.
I don’t remember which Japanese port we went to first. There were two main Navy bases in Japan—Yokosuka and Sasebo. Before we
got to Japan we had to convert all of our US dollars into "script." We were not allowed to us real money in Japan. We could convert
script into Yen for use on liberty. This was supposed to keep US dollars out of the hands of the enemy. We also were not supposed to
use script for any purchases ashore but almost everyone did if they ran out of Yen. The exchange rate during the whole time I was in
the Navy was 360 Yen/ US dollar. (2002 it’s about 90 to100 Yen/US dollar) At the beginning of every cruise to Japan and Korea from
the States a group of guys would put in $10-20 into a slush fund from which they could borrow and repay at the next payday at an
exorbitant interest rate. I think it was about 25%/payday. We got paid every 2 weeks or maybe it was once a month. Then at the end
of the cruise those who started the fund would share the profits. All of this was against regulations but nobody ever said anything
about it. Often people who weren’t members of the fund would borrow and all their contributions were gravy. Every payday there
was a gauntlet of loan sharks awaiting outside of the pay line. Some guys got very deep in debt and refused to pay or couldn’t pay.
Enforcement varied depending upon the physical prowess of the offender. If they defaulted on a loan no one would give them another
one. After this first cruise I always had money invested in a slush fund for use when we returned to the States. Often it was several
hundred dollars in profit. Some sailors made their profits in the crap games in the aft sleeping compartment. I only played a couple of
times and soon realized I was out of my league.
I don’t remember much about the timing or sequence of events relative to patrols off the coasts of Korea. Thus, the following notes
may be mixed up relative to which came first, last, or in the middle of the times I spent over seas. Most of the time spent on patrol was
boring and not very noteworthy. We would leave a port in Japan, either Yokosuka or Sasebo and remain at sea for 3 to 6 weeks or so.
Our duties might include escorting the battleships Iowa or Missouri and/or various cruisers and aircraft carriers. Sometimes we would
be on the perimeters of the convoy, protecting the big ships from possible submarine attacks or sometimes bringing up the rear, on
"plane guard" duty to pick up pilots who might crash while landing. We only had to fish a pilot out of the sea once and he was OK.
Another pilot that went down in the South China Sea wasn’t as lucky. We were sent to look for him but never found him or his plane.
We were part of Task Force 77 in the 7th Fleet, Destroyer Squadron
15 Destroyer Division 151. A Squadron had 8 ships and a Division
had 4. We cruised most often with The USS BOYD (DD544), USS TINGEY (DD539), USS YARNALL (DD541). All the ships had call signs
for radio or sonar message. Ours was "Pigsticker." One of the other ships was "Sweet Thing." I took pleasure in signaling them with
the proper protocol, "Sweet Thing, Sweet Thing, this is Pigsticker, Pigsticker, Over." Oh well, I was a pervert even then.
Another type of duty was shore bombardment. We would go in close to the beach and shoot at roads, trucks, bridges, railways and
targets of opportunity. A few times we were supposed to "draw fire" from shore batteries and locate them so the battleships could
blast them. Fortunately for us, the shore batteries didn’t fall for the trick. Sometimes the battleships would fire away at the suspected
emplacements anyway. Listening to those 16" shells whizzing overhead was impressive. Knowing that each round cost about $8,000
was equally impressive. In those days you could buy a Cadillac for that amount of money. I’d think of all those Caddys whizzing
overhead and slamming into a frozen mountain. Nowadays, the expendable weapons cost in the millions. Enemy trains would often
hide in tunnels when we were bombarding the rail lines. They’d wait until the moon when behind a cloud and then try to sneak out in
the dark. Sometimes we would put a spotting party in the motor whaleboat and they would sneak in close to the shore and cut the
engines and listen until they heard the "chug, chug" of the trains sneaking out. Then we’d fire the 5-inch guns at coordinates the
spotters would send back to the ship.
The only time our ship was hit by enemy fire was when we had to rescue the minesweeper USS Competent (AM-316) that was trapped
in a bay with a narrow entrance. We went blazing in at about 30 knots, laying down a smoke screen to hide the minesweeper from the
shore batteries. Because the minesweeper could only do 10 knots we had to sweep back and forth in front of them laying down the
smoke. We took about 60 hits from small cannons but we suffered no casualties, just minor damage to the ship. This was on August 27,
1952. And in the Songjin area.
During this same tour and about the same time of the year the ship, USS Thompson (DMS-38) we were relieving was hit by an air burst
above the bridge that killed 3 and injured 12 others. The bridge is where the sonar shack on our ship was located.
The ship that relieved us, the USS Barton (DD-722) suffered major
damage after striking a mine 90 miles east of Wonsan, North Korea,
11 casualties, 16 September 1952. Had the McDermut been on the line just a few days earlier or later we might have sustained those
casualties and I might have been one of them.
Another time when we were cruising back and forth in our sector, on a lazy sunny Sunday morning, when I was on sonar watch, I saw
and heard splashes (on the sonar gear) in the water off one side of the ship. I reported the contacts but there was no need because the
lookouts on the bridge saw them and immediately the signal for Battle Stations was sounded. The next round landed astern, in our
wake, but that was the end of it. I think the North Koreans got bored and took a couple of potshots at us to break the monotony.
Only once did we make a sonar contact on a submarine. Our orders were not to try to destroy them unless they fired first. We were
with the task force of carriers, cruisers, and other ships when we picked up a sub. We followed it, making passes, and simulating a
depth charge attack until we finally lost contact. The sub was most likely Russian or possibly, Chinese. The Russians Pacific sub fleet
operated from Vladavostock. We patrolled to within about 40 miles on one occasion.
Once a MIG came screaming past us so fast that by the time it was picked up on radar and identified it was past us before we could
get to General Quarters (battle stations).
The biggest danger we faced was from mines. The Koreans could lay them from the back of innocent looking fishing boats. Usually
they anchored the mines so they would be submerged and would explode below the water line of a ship that hit them. After a storm
many would break free and could be floating just about anywhere. During a calm after a storm we would sight a bunch of floating
mines that had broken from their anchors and we’d shoot them with our 20mm guns or with small arms. Some of them made
impressive explosions when shot, others just sank. The Captain made sure the lookouts saw the damage an exploding mine could
cause.
Our armament included four 5-inch guns (designated as "5-inch/38 Cal." which by definition of Caliber is the ratio of the gun barrel
length to its diameter. Thus 5X38=190 inches or a barrel that is 15.8 ft long.), two twin 20mm anti-aircraft batteries, torpedo mounts
with 10 torpedoes (I think), depth charges, and ahead -thrown anti-submarine rockets. The ship was 376 ft long, 39 ft wide, top speed
about 38 knots and had a ship’s complement of 20 officers and 309 crew.
During some of the roughest weather, more than a few crewmembers
would get seasick. In fact, one guy got sick for a day or so
whenever we left port. A crusty old CPO said that not getting sick didn’t mean you were a real sailor. A real sailor could still do his
work whether he was sick or not. I never got sick and rarely worked either. What does that make me? A civilian!
Hong Kong was a good place for R&R. Buying stuff was a favorite activity (that is, after the usual pursuit of wine, women and more
women.
Figs. 10, 11, and 12).
Items that were good bargains included clothes, especially custom-fitted suits, carved ivory (it was legal then. Fig. 13),
jewelry, cameras, sets of fine china, and other stuff for gifts. An irony—we could spend U.S. dollars in Hong Kong, only a few miles
Wes at the top of the pass photographing the harbor.
Some enterprising capitalists would take dollars and buy yen at the rate of 500 Y / US dollar and then spend it in Japan where the
exchange rate was 360 yen/dollar. I could only amass enough money to do this on my last visit to Hong Kong. Always before I didn’t
have enough money to afford the stuff I wanted to buy. Alas, as the saying goes "it takes money to make money."
On one side of Hong Kong Island was a floating city, "Aberdeen" Chinese junks and other boats. There were several fancy floating
restaurants. Wes, a couple of other guys and I ate there once. Fish and seafood were kept in live-tanks on barges moored next to the
restaurant. You could select the creature you wanted to join you for dinner. We chose a small grouper, maybe 10 lbs. (Fig. 15).
It was excellent. They served it with an orange sauce and other complimentary side dishes. Hot tea was served in glasses, like water
glasses. It was so hot you could hardly hold the glass. Before it cooled enough to comfortably hold the glass, a waiter would whisk it
away and give you a new hot glass.
In1954 and again in 1955 we were deployed to patrol the area of
the Tachen Islands to prevent Chinese Communist Forces from
occupying those Nationalist China Islands. I read later that we had been sent there by General McArthur to provoke an incident that
would give him an excuse to attack communist forces in China. For this we got a ribbon for the China Service Medal. Other medals I
got for my time in service were the National Defense Service Medal, Korean Service Medal (2 battle stars), United Nation Service
Medal, and the Good Conduct Medal. The Good Conduct Medal is awarded to sailors who managed to stay out of trouble or at least
not get caught for 3 years (I think). Two weeks after the Captain awarded me my medal we went into a port in Taiwan and I went on
liberty. In this port we were only granted "Cinderella liberty," home by midnight. Well, I got a little drunk, and decided to extend
liberty until early the next morning. I even had to borrow a few bucks from Anti-submarine Warfare Officer, my immediate superior,
Harry Winters Lt. jg. (More about him later). One of my friends had the quarterdeck watch and I figured I could sneak back and not
get caught or put "On Report" as it was termed in the Navy. Well, all would have been OK except that the Officer-of–the-Deck who
usually stayed in the officers stateroom during the night and early morning decided take a stroll and caught me coming aboard. When
placed "on report" you have to go to a "Captain’s Mast," to get your disciplinary action.
When I appeared before the Captain he asked, "Didn’t I just see you up here at the last Captain’s Mast?"
I said, "Yes Sir."
He asked, " and what was that for?"
"A Good Conduct Medal, Sir." I replied.
He shook his head and gave me "restriction" for a month. This meant I couldn’t leave the ship on liberty for that period. We were
scheduled to leave for the states in about a month so it looked like I might not be able to go ashore in Japan again. After we returned
to Japan one of my friends who was a yeoman and knew all the rules and regulations backwards and forwards told me that I could
apply for 72 hours of annual leave and it wouldn’t violate my restriction. I did and Lt. Winters signed off on it and I got a 3-day leave.
To make things even better, any leave up to 3 days taken outside the U.S. wasn’t subtracted from you annual leave. Go figure!
Harry Winters, Lt.jg. was a character who would have fit in nicely with Hawkeye and Trapper of M.A.S.H. fame. He was a psychiatrist
in real life and had been drafted. He didn’t want to practice his profession in the Navy and chose to be an Officer of the Line instead. I
suspected he wanted to drive people nuts for a change instead of curing them.
He was the A.S.W. officer. To most people A.S.W. meant anti-submarine warfare but to the Sonar Gang it meant "Ape-Shit Winters."
Regulations didn’t mean much to him most of the time because he thought they were mostly nonsense (he was right). He was very
competitive and liked to beat the performance of the rest of the sonar gangs in our 4-ship division of destroyers. When we were in
training activities and if we were best he would reward us with as many privileges as possible. If we didn’t he wouldn’t hold it against
us, though. When we were convoying the task force each day a destroyer would be in charge of taking information about water
temperatures at various depths. Because sound travels at different speeds in different temperatures we needed a profile of
temperature vs. depth. When there was a sharp difference in temperature (a thermocline) sound would bend and influence the range
we could detect submarines. This information enabled the task force commander to deploy his destroyers so there were no gaps in
our sound coverage. To get this information we had to lower a bathyothermograph (BT) which measured temperature at depth. All
this was done while under way. Since we usually did about 20 knots. If seas were rough it was difficult. We swung a small boom out
over the side.
A cable went from the power winch through a pulley at the end
of the boom and attached to the BT. Lowering the BT was no problem
because we just put the winch in free spool and let it sink. Retrieving it was a different story. You had to ease the clutch just right when
the BT left the water. If going too fast the whole thing would leap out of the water, wrap around the end of the boom, and snap off the
BT. If you didn’t have it going fast enough and you were travelling fast the friction of the water would overcome the winch and the BT
wouldn’t come up. If the ship was wallowing from side to side the task was even more difficult. Because of this, standard procedure
was to cancel the operation if the seas were above certain state of roughness or if you were steaming at more than 20 knots. Well,
these regulations didn’t mean much to Winters. If we could keep from getting washed overboard he insisted we get the reading, even
if it meant we had to have the winch operator tied to a line to keep him aboard as the waves spilled over the main deck we were on.
He relished the astonishment of the task force commander when we radioed him with the BT readings during extremely rough
weather.
Because of Harry’s disdain for regulations he remained an Ensign for long time. It was rumored that he was the most senior Ensign in
the fleet before he was finally promoted to Lt. jg. He wasn’t planning on a career in the Navy and he didn’t need the money, so it was
no problem for him. When his tour was up he was replaced by Ensign McVey, a guy who was OK but certainly he was no Harry
Winters.
One of the nice things about life aboard a destroyer, as opposed to a bigger ship, was that enforcement of regulations was loose. I was
assigned to the McDermut for about 3 years
and only once did we have a full dress inspection, where all the
men were dressed in
"Dress Blues," stood in ranks at attention and were
inspected by the Captain and other officers. The single occasion
for this was when our Captain was leaving
and command was changing with a new Captain. (Fig. 16)
Even during this inspection, I got to stand by our sonar shack, in work clothes. Sometimes the inspection party would visit the various workstations but not this time. My record of never standing an inspection on the McDermut was intact. Onboard battleships, carriers,cruisers, and shore bases they held WEEKLY inspections of this kind.
One of the most interesting places we visited was Bangkok, Thailand.
The city is on a river a few miles from the sea. While steaming
up
the river we could see many sea snakes floating or swimming on the surface. One of the officers stood on the bridge and shot at them
with a .22 rifle as we past by them. I don’t think he hit many of them, but he had fun. I learned later that the sea and rivers in this part
of the world were notorious for the number of deadly sea snakes found there.
Bangkok is built on a series of canals (klhongs) that serve as major avenues of transportation. A bunch of us got permission to take the
motor whaleboat on a sightseeing tour. We managed not to get lost and had a great time. There were shops and restaurants
accessible from the boats. We took one klhong and it dead-ended someplace in the jungle. There were no street signs!
We were the first American vessel that had been to Bangkok for many years and the people were extremely friendly and cooperative.
Wes and I went on Shore Patrol the first night to chart the places we would seek out on liberty. We attended a performance of Siamese
dancers that had been specially arranged for the U.S. sailors. I had a 16mm movie camera with me but wasn’t using it when an official
of some sort wanted to know if I needed some flood lights. I said "sure," so he stopped the dancers, got me a set of movie lights, set
them up and started the performance from the beginning. We also went to a Thai kickboxing fight. After paying admission and getting
seated in the main seating section we took a few photos. An usher came up to us and asked if we’d like ringside seats. We agreed of
course and were allowed to photograph the fights from ringside. Thai boxing is vicious. Most of the fights ended shortly, with the loser
knocked out cold. Some were removed from the ring on stretchers. The photos I took were not too good because I had to develop
Survivors were usually carried from the ring on a stretcher.
We also went to a carnival, with rides and various festivities. When we returned to the ship I realized that I had lost my wallet with
about 20 bucks and more importantly my ID and liberty card---a definite no-no by Navy regulations. Later that night when some other
guys returned they told me the manager had my wallet. It had come out of my pants when I was in one of the "bumper car" rides. The
next day I returned and picked it up. Lo and behold, the money and all the contents were still there. Not like anything that would have
happened at a US carnival. Maybe the fact that this one was run by the local police dept. as a charity event had something to do with
it.
We were there during Christmas but there were few Christians to celebrate it. This was the 3rd Christmas I had spent in the Far East. I
was beginning to think that " Santu Craus" was supposed to have slant eyes.
On one of our R&R sojourns we went to the Philippines. (Fig.
18)
One of the guys on the ship was a herpetologist, or was going to be one. He assured me this was non-poisonous.
The US naval base was in Subic Bay near the village, Olongapo. The town was little more than one street lined with bars and places
where loose ladies hung out. Outside Olongapo the Navy had an enlisted men’s club where booze was ultra-cheap. For some reason
Wes and I decided to tie one on. I got so drunk that I remembered little of all the ‘fun" we had when I awakened, early the next
morning, sitting on the toilet onboard ship. Later that morning a group of guys wanted to take the motor whaleboat and go skin diving.
Neither Wes nor I felt like going and the guys wanted to borrow our gear. We both had extras of most stuff—masks, snorkels, fins,
and a couple of spearguns. Knowing the "group mentality" when borrowing stuff and the chaos of divers and their gear, I made sure
that we knew who was responsible for what. That was a good thing because they were towing a rubber raft full of the equipment
behind the motor whaleboat. The raft turned over and all the gear went to the bottom in about 60 feet of water. Rather than anchoring
a buoy to mark the spot precisely, they triangulated the spot. The next day we took the "hookah" diving gear that was used to make
emergency repairs below the waterline on the ship. This was a full-faced mask with a hose to it. Air was pumped by hand to the mask.
After verifying what signals meant "more air (pump harder, dammit!)" and "get me the hell up" Wes and I both tried to find the gear
but found only one fin. I was constantly signaling for more air. I also saw a rather large sand shark. When we returned to the US the
borrowers bought us all new gear.
The only other adventure in the Philippines was a trip via a large landing craft to Manila where the highlight was a trip through San
Miguel Brewery, followed by a trip to the bars.
On the way to and from Japan and Korea we always stopped at Pearl Harbor for fuel and supplies. Because we had very few fresh
fruits and vegetables when we were in the Far East we would pig out on salads and fruit in Honolulu. Fresh eggs were also a treat
because we didn’t ever have any on board. We were fed dried eggs left over from WWII. On the boxes was the date of 1942. I
suspect that may have been a "use by date." Needless to say, they weren’t very tasty. About the only fresh stuff we ever got was at
the shore bases which could buy local produce. Honolulu was very expensive for lowly sailors. My most pleasant memories of Hawaii
were of taking a bus to Haunama Bay. The bay was formed by a volcanic crater that the sea had broken into. It was a state park with
toilets and some refreshment stands, but little else. Nobody complained when we slept overnight. The bay had lots of coral reefs, the
first I had ever seen, so I had lots of fun snorkeling and spearing a few fish. One night we were skin-diving and were using battle
lanterns from the ship for underwater lights. The lanterns were ALMOST waterproof and they lasted for several hours before they
filled with water and crapped out. We were skinny-dipping because it was quite dark and nobody was around until some fisherman
showed up at low tide and were wading on the coral. They had Coleman lanterns and were spearing fish attracted to the light. When
we came in it turned out the fishermen were fisherwomen. They didn’t seem very disturbed. I guess we didn’t impress them much.
In the early ‘50s the only underwater breathing equipment
available was the Aqua-lung. The acronym, SCUBA hadn’t been
coined
yet. . There was no such thing as diver certification. The Aqua-lung came with a small instruction booklet. The instructions were
breathe normally and don’t hold your breath or ascend faster than your bubbles. I bought a small, "½ hr tank" Aqua-lung but I didn’t
use it very often because the bubbles frightened the kind of fish we usually speared—calico bass, sheepshead, and other 4-10 lb. fish.
Large fish, like black sea bass, weren’t bothered much by bubbles but we seldom saw any of them.
It was illegal to use an Aqua-lung to catch lobsters or abalone. You could only take them when free diving. Wes and I could dive easily
to 40 feet and when pressed, down to 60 feet. We were in very good shape for that sort of thing. I bought a CO2 powered speargun
and rigged it with long line and float for really big fish. Only once did I come across a black sea bass that I might have speared when
using the Aqua-lung. It was at Catalina Island. I took close aim and squeezed the trigger. The gun went, "poof," spitting the spear
about 2 feet before it dropped to the bottom. The sea bass slowly swam off. The adjustment for the release of the gas was screwed up.
I managed to sell that miserable piece of crap and went back to a rubber-powered gun with three sets of bands. I bought a
powerhead for it. This was a device that went on the end of the spear that powered the detachable spearpoint by a .38 caliber
cartridge. It always worked.
We had a friend on the ship who was a machinist’s mate who loved to make stuff in the ship’s machine shop. If it presented a challenge
he was happy to help us. That was more fun than working. We decided to build our own underwater camera cases after talking to a
diver named Lamar Boran who later became a well-known underwater photographer and was a consultant for Lloyd Bridges program
Sea Hunt. He also became Director of Photography for 6 or 7 movies, including "The Old Man and the Sea" and one of the Bond
movies. Wes and I designed and built the cases with the machinist’s help. Mine worked for years.
A couple of times when the ship was in San Diego we went to Mexico, once in a chartered u-drive cabin cruiser. It was about 24 ft long.
We caught some huge lobsters and speared a bunch of blue sharks. I entered the biggest shark and won a skin diving contest for the
biggest shark of the year. The prize was a 2-rubber "Arbolete speargun. The contest was sponsored by Skin Diver Magazine. This was
when Skin Diver was first getting started. They also published monthly articles from skin diving clubs in So.Cal. I loved the names of
the clubs—"Bottomscratchers," "Sons of the Beaches,"--- are a couple that come to mind. Our club was named the Reef Raiders and I
wrote several accounts of our dives for them. The club was started when I was in Sonar school and Wes and I and a couple of other
guys continued it after I was assigned to the McDermut. Sadly, after more than 50 years in business, Skin Diver Magazine published its
last issue in November 2002.
Another time we went to Mexico via a rented car. We drove to Punta
Banda. The water on the north side of Punta Banda was shallow
and relatively warm, but the bottom was sandy and fishing wasn’t very good. We drove over a goat track to south of the point. The
shoreline was rocky and looked like It might be great spearfishing. We rented a Mexican fisherman’s panga and set off to find a nice
cove. We slipped over the side and I immediately popped back in the boat—it was freezing cold. On the south side of the point there
was an upwelling from the really deep water and it was frigid. We didn’t have any protective rubber suits so we went back to the
warm water side of the point and played in the surf.
Cameras played a big part of life aboard ship. (Fig. 21)
I started out with a cheap Ansco 620 roll film box-type camera. I still have it. During my first cruise to Japan I wanted to buy an Argus
C-3 a 35-mm camera that was quite popular at the time. It was the model that my aunt Lenore had when she taught me how to
develop and print pictures. But the dispensary at the Navy base didn’t have any in stock so I got a Bolsey Twin lens reflex 35mm
camera instead. I think I used it for about a year or so before I bought Canon IVs-2 rangefinder 35-mm camera. It was the camera I
built the u/w case for. Eventually, I got a 135mm telephoto lens and a 35mm wide-angle lens. On my last trip I bought a 16mm Bolex
3-turret lens movie camera. You could mount three lenses on it and swivel the one you wanted. It was a professional camera but I got
it pretty cheap at a navy base in Japan. Film was only about $7 per 100 ft. roll. I took a lot of footage on the last trip in Japan, Bangkok,
and Midway with this camera. On the night before I was to go home for my final leave I took most of my stuff and put it in my newly
purchased 55 Chevy station wagon. I was going to take all the stuff home. Well, someone broke the back window and stole everything
they could reach. This included all my diving equipment, clothes, and the worst loss was all of the photos I had taken on the last trip.
All of my Bangkok slides many u/w photos from various places were gone. Fortunately I had placed my cameras under the folded
down seat in the back and the thieves didn’t find them.
The military had a few advantages over civilian life, namely,
the cost of things in the exchanges or ship’s stores. Johnny
Walker Black
Label scotch was less than $2.00, a carton of cigarettes about $2.00. My Canon camera cost about $100. Thirty years later I sold it for
$135. But having said that there wasn’t much to keep me interested in being a career sailor. After I returned to civilian life I couldn’t
afford to buy 16mm film. It cost about $24/ 100 feet. A hundred foot of film ran for about 4 minutes on a projector. I couldn’t afford to
buy a projector either. I sold the 16mm Bolex when I went back to college.
A few months before I was discharged we were on an ASW training exercise off San Diego. Our ship got the highest marks of the 8
destroyers in the exercise. Because of the way Sonarmen were allowed to advance if they passed the tests, regardless of the number
and composition of petty officers on your ship, one ship could be top heavy with petty officers. We had three 1st class Petty Officers,
two 2nd class and one 3rd Class in our 6-man sonar gang. The Commander of our Destroyer Squadron came aboard to congratulate
us. When he arrived at the sonar shack three of us present were all 1st Class. He asked each of us our names and rates. Then he asked
us how much time we had left on our current "hitch." We were all short-timers. He asked each of us if we were going to re-enlist,
reminding us of an approximate $1000 re-enlistment bonus. We all said we weren’t going to re-enlist. He asked me why I’d turn down
the bonus and I replied that the GI Bill was worth a lot more. He pursed his lips, shook his head, and left. The only time I even remotely
entertained the thought of re-enlisting was when I had a year left on my enlistment. The Navy was recruiting men to go to the Antarctic
at the start of the Geophysical Year program. The kicker was you had to serve for 4 years. This would have meant 5 more years in the
Navy—no thanks.
Most of the time in the Navy was sheer boredom; with occasional bits of excitement or something interesting breaking the monotony. I
have long blanks in my memory especially about when we were at sea. The routine was stand watch for 4 hours and be off for 8, eat
mostly boring meals with a weekly menu that seldom varied, sleep, play chess, or stare out at the sea. Sometimes there were
interesting sights like acres and acres of dolphins leaping out of the water, or soaring albatrosses skimming the water. I don’t
remember seeing many larger whales very often. We would occasionally make a sonar contact on whales. Sometimes in the morning
it was fun to pick up the flying fish that landed on the deck during the night. Get a life, huh?
Once while sitting in the sonar shack I was grab-assing around
with a guy who was sitting on the deck next to my foot. He started
hitting my toe with a fist. I responded by hitting his shoulder with my fist. It escalated and he hit my toes very hard and I let loose a
mighty swing but the bastard ducked and I slammed my fist into a steel junction box, breaking my thumb. We were cruising back to
the States. I had to wait until we reached Midway for it to be set. We had only a corpsman onboard and he wasn’t qualified to do the
work. The worst part of the whole ordeal was that I couldn’t dive on Midway that trip.
No description of a military experience would be complete without some description of the food. Previously I mentioned lack of fresh
fruit, vegetables, and eggs. Creamed chipped beef (shit on a shingle) ground beef on toast (also known shit on a shingle and it
definitely was more descriptively named), baked beans on toast were staples and not really too bad. I had my first encounter with
hominy and grits. Hominy was inedible and only by burying grits in butter and sugar was it edible.
The chow hall coffee was nearly undrinkable. They made it in a huge vat, probably 30-40 gallons at a time. The coffee grounds were
tied in a thin, cloth bag and boiled in the steam-heated vat. When we came to a meal the coffee was so strong It could either float a
spoon or dissolve it (well, maybe not that strong). Instead of drinking this almost every group had its own coffeepot in its workstation.
We had a 16-cup percolator and a hot plate in the sonar shack. This pot was going 24 hrs. a day when at sea. It was standard
procedure for the off-going watch to make a fresh pot just before being relieved. Every once in awhile the fresh water supply would
be flooded with sea water and coffee made with sea water is as my dear old pappy used to say, "enough to gag a maggot off a gut
wagon."
Fresh water was made by evaporating sea water. Frequently, when one of the evaporators was broken we would be on fresh-water
rations. This meant either showering in sea water or using the method of wetting down, shutting off the water, lathering, and then
rinsing off quickly. Long, leisurely showers were never an option.
The sit-down toilets (heads) looked like a stock-watering trough with slats for seats. Salt water flowed constantly from one end to the
other, continuously flushing. Sometimes the "end" involved wasn’t part of the toilet. During a storm it was like a poorly aimed bidet.
I don’t have many regrets about my Navy days, except for not keeping a journal and for not keeping in touch with some of my best
friends better. Ken Groendyke and I kept in touch for several years as did Wes Wise and I. After some years I lost contact with both of
them. I’ve tried to find them via the Internet but with no success. ( Wes was located on Feb.12, 2003) I found Ken's son and found that Ken had died in 1996, after a rather troubled life.
