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"PORTS, OVERSEAS AND STATESIDE"
Sometimes certain happenings wouldn't escape a mind if they were being coaxed outby Father Time himself. I was making my way to my sea duty station on the signal bridge. (That's a duty station assigned outside your own division that gave that particular division extra help or expertise.) We were all performing our duties of semaphore and manning the flashing light or flag halyards when word leaked out that we were stuck. Stuck right in the middle of San Diego harbor, which at that time was the Command Center ,(CINCPACFLT or NAVFLTCOM-WESPAC, ?), for most of the Navy and Marines and certainly everything west of "The Rocky Mountains". The "Flag Ship" of the entire Fleet was STUCK! I didn't hear it but, I could imagine. "STUCK,!! What the _ _ _ _ do you mean stuck?" "O.D., Raise anchor!", but we weren't going anywhere, not a budge. What a hoot! A Bo's'n striker (Boatson Mate) was faithfully standing watch on the signal bridge, wearing his sound powered head gear when he noticed something happening eveytime the anchor was raised or lowered. I know he was wondering if he should say anything when he realized it would come back to him anyway if he didn't. The kid annouced over his headphones what he was noticing, (and let me mention that with sound powered head phones that massage went all over the ship due to the vibrations it sends through the lines). There was some buoys, as a matter of fact a couple of buoys, bobbing up and down in San Diego Harbor. Bobbing all the way up and sinking way down everytime we raised or lowered the anchor. We were just like a fish on a hook, Hooked...just like one big confused, giant pi_ _ed off fish. It seems that the "O.D.", Officer of the Day, was accountable for catching the buoy line on the harbor bottom with the hook of one of our anchors. Everytime he ordered, "up anchor" the cable holding the buoys pulled submerging them. Everytime he backed off they came flying out of the water like some great nuke SSN jumping straight up out of the water while on "shake down". The ship itself had actually "missed movement"! all Not a soul said the first thing to the Pilot that always guided us in and out of San Diego harbor. Who could have caused this? Sailors should always stay at sea! The jungle was hot and steam hardly floated above the dense brush. Sweat or rain, 120 degrees, what a vacation spot. Scared stupid but excited, ain't that weird? How in the world do you explain that? I guess that's why a young man can do things and see adventure where there definitely is none. The country smelled, the weather was hot and twice as humid but, I liked it and hated it all at one time. I can't explain it for a minute. One truck, me, alone, no piece-no knife-no weapon...nothing! What could they have been thinking of? Did the personnel who issued weapons think people didn't get hurt out here? I bounced all along the road like a ball, jarring my teeth, when suddenly I drove up on some locals, I think. I prayed they weren't guerillas. Communist guerillas, a true waste of life. Anyway, there they stood smiling, just a few teeth among them. They were not old men. You could never tell what a smile meant in this kind of situation. They didn't understand English, not a good sign. Why had I stopped? Stupid... Four of them, Machetes in hand, and who knows what or who waiting in the bush. There was no action? Why hadn't somebody made a move? Was there a move to be made? This was getting to the point of seconds seeming like minutes. No fear yet, just anticipation weighing like a millstone. All is not right...and time was telling me to move! I studied them, shorts, sandals and those machetes. Who could tell for sure??? There were no visible firearms... I noticed that each had taken a piece of cardboard approxiamately two feet by two feet, and cut a big "X" in the middle of each piece. The cardboard was then placed on the head with the "X" situated at the crown then pulled down on their heads leaving their shiney black hair showing with the four sharp points of the "X" sticking up along the sides. (This kind of cover was meant for those that would be working in the hot sun of the rice paddys, these people had just emerged from the bush.) 'not exactley aggessive like guerillas. This was new to me. We were in the jungle, the hilly mountainous jungle where farmers weren't apt to be. I slowly backed up to the truck, smiling and giving a bow or two without moving my eyes from them while making ready to get gone as quick as possible, foot or truck, it did not matter to me. I was not above a little kowtowing in a situation like this either. I did get to the truck and kicked it's butt getting out of there, bouncing and banging and clanging and probably leaving them laughing or whatever and remarking how stupid G. I.s could be. It could be also that they were not laughing but, enroute and not wanting to leave one person missing so that it might bring attention to them. Who knows, who's to say? When it's right down to it, who cares? It was a strange and confusing situation. As I pulled up to the small gray building, I went in to check on one of my strikers. I stuck around where it was friendly before heading back out. The trip back was a dreaded one and I didn't need to stop for directions, help or anything that would keep me stationary. I would have run on the rims to get back if I had to. I had no craving to meet with anybody on the way back. Emphasis Without an equalizing force life is totally different. No power or protection matches a helpless feeling. Try it sometime. (Just for a standard you might want to try standing on El Sagundo Blvd. in the heart of Watts at midnight in the heat of summer, white as snow, with a guitar in your hand waiting by a pay phone. Your last quarter was easily given up and your guts almost given out, while praying that the friends you called would soon appear. ' gives a totally new meaning to the word fear.) Analogy The jungle...trees and dirt and mud. The canopy seems to be where the sunny life is, kind of like Florida. The branches with all sorts of insects and bugs was full of life while just under those branches a sub-life went on. Less freedom, more hiding, like a bad part of town. The trunk, and lower, became just that, a lower harsher existance and constant thriving to climb upward toward the canopy. Once on the ground there seemed to be no safe haven. Ants, snakes, crap...booby traps and just anything else that made life harder. I definitely want to be living on top of the canopy in life, far away from so many uncertainties and threats and short fields of view. Singapore Singapore is an excellent port. It's a little smelly, like fish and stagnant water, but a better port anyway. There were so many different nationalities there. I believe it was an English Crown Colony when I was there, or at least making the transition from that to self rule. It was also known as a city-state. That means it was a huge city that was self-ruled and not a part of Malaysia. Me, Gino, and Petey hit Singapore like an invading army. No goofing off here, we were going straight for anything American. First the "American Club" for American food, then on to the "Country Club", which was the hang out for the American and Australian employees of the oil companies. Round eyes, something we had not seen in awhile. Bob Meecham got lost one night and when no one could find him we all knew it was time to look under the tables. There laid Bob. He had been crawling around under the tables looking for who knows what. It could have been women, money or his way back to standing up. I sang alot at the "Country Club" with the band. There was me and another guy from the ship. We sang all we wanted, and the club supplied the band, which was pretty good actually. We won over some hearts at the "Coutry Club", American and Australian alike, even if we couldn't see past the microphone. Money and liquor and beer, no food just round eyes and good times. I happen to become aquainted with an Australian girl who took a liking to me. As we starting walking to her apartment there on the grounds, she took off running. What the heck is going on here?... I finally caught up with her just as she slammed her apartment door so, I began to beat and bang and kick as she threaten to call the S.P. and so on. Finally I asked, "what's Wrong?" She began telling me to leave as she slowly opened the door because her husband was soon to come home. Yeah, I believe that... I sat down and we talked as she sat next to me on the steps so, finally I figured this is a waste of time. I got up and said some ugly things as I recall and walked away. As I turned the corner there was her husband and he could not rightfully make any connections. 'Never learn...I just got wiser. As I left the apartments I wandered down the road. Singapore is a relatively safe port. When I got to the entrance to the "Country Club" there stood a big hindu Indian, as in Punjab and New Delhi. He with his turban on and me being in the drunken sailor state I was accustomed to, I began remarking about his turban. "I'll give you five U.S. dollars for that rag on your head", ha, what an idiot, what an insult. "No, No, You go away!" "No, No, you give me that turban for five dollars!" "You are drunk! Go away, Now!" "Give me that d_ _ n turban..." "O.K., Twenty-five American dollar." "No Way...Five." I reached to get his turban and give him five dollars at the same time. Never do this. What we take as being trivial is not to other cultures, like these hindu heathern guards. If you didn't know, they carry very long, very sharp scimitars. A scimitar will cut you in half along with the tree you're standing next to. I've never asked for trouble often but, I wanted that turban and I wasn't taking no for an answer. I reached for that turban and he drew that danged sword and commenced to get ready to cut me smack in two, over a nasty old rag that was on his head. I was really close to falling over anyway and I did just as the action started. Fortunately Gino and Bob and Petey swooped down from nowhere and grabbed me under my arms and drug me down the road as we all called the dark skinned towel headed varmit everything we knew to call him. He could not have whipped Gino or Bob so he knew not to pursue. Sailors really have a language common to only them and we used it often. That jerk hadn't seen twenty-five American dollars in his whole life. ' Never could stand them after that. The bar at the landing peir A First Class Boatson Mate caught the side of my head with a hay maker one night and it literally knocked me off my chair and out cold. An old merchant marine from England named Finley, grabbed the bo'son, put him in a "Full Nelson" and drug him out of there kicking and screaming. That bo'son never did pull rank or bother me again. Finley had earned all the liquor and food and running around he wanted for that small rescue. Finley was an old merchant marine hanging around the Union building in Singapore. He had a Chinese wife and kid waiting in Hong Kong and was trying to get back to them. Although my nose had been broken well beyond it's original shape, I was still young and appreciated his help. We wound up at the "Singapore Hilton" with some snipe Boiler Makers whom I had always gotten along with. I soon took the opportunity to pass out. When I awoke the snipes had gone, as everyone takes care of themselves except when it counts. Mr. Finley had taken a bath, drank everything he could, washed his clothes in the bathtub, and hung them out to dry on the Balcony of "The Hilton"! Bang! Bang! came the rap on the door. "What you doing here?" "We were just leaving," said Mr. Finley. The manager, who was quite upset, was hurrying down the hall jibbering in some foul Malaysian dialect when Mr. finley asked that he speak in English because we could not understand him. The manager understood and calmed down enough to become almost polite. After a few words with the the manager Finley told me he would handle this and to stay quiet. He complimented the manager on his fine English (which was pigeon English at best) and polished it off by asking him where he went to school for his college education, which just happen to be in "The States". The manager bought into this knowing that trying to get money from either of us was not going to work. He simply told us to leave and not come back. Olongopo, Po City, Subic Bay The Philipines were hot and full of work in 100 degree heat filled with enough humidity to drown you. When it came time to knock-off there was always a few hours of work left and then the beach! "The Beach" is a term used in the Navy that covers all territory not aboard ship. It's not a literal beach. We all drank way too much but, if you live hard the way to best wind down, or for some just forget, is to drink. We all could have used a friend to remind us when to stop consuming that San Magoo or San Miguel, whichever. This became evident when I realized I was seeing alot of my friends from the mud up, listening to them say, "Come on, we'll help you back." I wasn't the only one mind you but, I was often found laying in the street by the curb in more than one port with one eye open, trying not to pass out. Crossing S_ _ _ River If there was ever another way to safely cross S _ _ _ River, other than the main gate I never knew about it. However a friend of mine, who we'll call Parker, found one and used it. I know this to be true because the shore patrol found him far down the perimeter dangling upside down from the barbed wire yelling, "Help! Somebody help me please!" in that drunken language known only to sailors. The Shore Patrol, which consisted of those fleet sailors unlucky enough to have the "Duty", had mercy on him. It seems Parker was more snockered than it seemed because he insisted he was on an oiler. So the Shore Patrol walked Parker up the brow did a one eighty leaving Parker saluted and staggered below. I could never see letting someone on board without recognizing them or seeing their I.D. but, in this case it worked. Parker found a supply berthing compartment and passed out, only to awaken that morning to, "Revelee, Revelee, Sweepers, sweepers, man your brooms, clean sweep down all decks fore and aft..." With one big old hang over he wondered, "Where in the _ _ _ _ am I?" After sobering some he realized he wasn't in Kansas anymore. He was as embarrassed as a WesPac widow who was eight months pregnant while her husband had been gone for nine. He had also managed to miss muster! This is absolutley true, as I know the SK who went and picked him up. Because Parker was such a nice guy all he ever got from this mess was, "Hey Parker, where are you sleep next time you go on the beach?" That was punishment enough. He was a good guy. Olongopo Any sailor who knew about Hotel St., Shitt St., Won Chia, or Oceans 11 can also tell you about how stupid it feels to buy a baby chick and throw it to an alligator that hadn't moved since the Japanese surrendered. It seems this little guy in Olongopo got the idea if he could put up a wrought iron fence around an alligator, feed it everyday, keep it wet and happy, he could make a lot of money selling baby chickens to drunk sailors that would just love to see a baby chicken between those massive yellow teeth. What a HOOT! Well, you know when someone is drunk, their attention span is nil, so, they'd watch about two minutes then say, "P _ _ _ on it.", and try to walk away. Then, this wonderful smell would stop you 'cause anybody drunk in Po had not eaten in hours. This little filipino fellow also know this and sold what he called sweet and sour pork on a stick for two pesos. He would cook this stuff on a little rusty habatchi under a big yellow umbrella rain or shine, day or night. It tasted so good and and when you're drunk and hungrier than twelve hounds you'd buy a whole handful and start eating like there was no tomorrow. But, who cared?, because pesos were meant to be whizzed away anyhow. I'm sure there was more money changed there than the market itself. I would also bet pig meat is not as stringy nor covered with enough spices to disguise that difference. I'd even bet that pig swung from branches and barked like a dog until they trapped it, knocked it in the head, skinned it and cut off that long, skinny, curly, furry little tail. There wasn't no squeal in that pig. I don't know which is worst, telling somebody you've handled a monkey or eat one! The streets in "Po" were mud. Plain red mud so potent that to this day it's still stained in to my whites. It always rained in Olongopo. The streets flooded continuously and were not paved. The sidewalks were boards, rotted, broken, or even sometimes just not there. When you left the base to go into town you had walk across S _ _ t River. Every native kid in town had a wire seign wrapped around a bent coathanger and yelled from the filthy sluge while they swam among the waste, "Hey Joe, give me dollar, throw me peso sailor." I believe those kids made more than the sailors who went to town. The river the children swam in as they begged was full of raw sewage. That's how the river got it's name. There have been cases when some sailors would take a pocket full of washers and throw them as they crossed. You could really tick off a little filipino in a hurry by doing that. You had to make sure you were fast enough to out run the slimmy waste they threw your way after cussing you for a long while. I had on occassion done that also but, never got hit with the sludge. I also threw alot of pesos too, however. Sounds cruel but once on the beach you were fair game for any kid or sly young girl to steal anything they could get their hands on. It sometimes became quite nasty as a few sailors paid dearly for a good-time on "The Beach" in Olongopo. These same kids had moms or sisters who were making money a different way. Town was always full of bright eyed, often very pretty girls, trying to make a few dollars, and they did too. It was just a nasty little town built around a U.S. Navy Base. The population there could go from one or two thousand to eight or ten thousand in one or two days. It depended on the seriousness of the gun line and how many ships could be afforded the priveledge of pulling in to a work port. Some ships rebarreled the big guns, like when the U.S.S. New Port News' number two gun turrent blew up, but, most took on ocean stores, food shipped from the states. Also the expensive supply parts were stored in Subic. There's tales that could be told for years and never gone over twice about Olongopo. Sattihip, Utipoh, Bangkok I was pulled from one mess after another by Gene, Bob and Petey...great guys. Gene spoke fluent spanish and trips to T.J. were no threat as long as he was with us. Bob Meecham was from New York. Ron "Petey" Pederson was an IC man who was extremely easy going. He and I were good friends but, prone to find trouble, like the time he ran naked down the hallway of a Bangkok hotel from one ticked off Thai girl. He had touched her head thinking she was wearing a wig. Let me tell you, never touch a buddist on the head. Ha...! If I hadn't opened the door looking for the commotion he'd probably never made it. I'd rather been steaming The ship was tied up in deep water in Sattihip at the Air Force base in Utapo. Sand bags and watch towers were all over, surrounding the air field where the bombers and fighters were sheltered and took off and landed. Heavily armed guards were all around and guard dogs to go with them. Fifties and bigger were behind the sand bags to inflict any damage they needed to. This base was not popular and I wondered why we ever pulled in there in the first place. The Airman were extremely nice to all of us, showing us where we could make unsupervised calls home and even arranged talks with their Chaplan. It all sounds corny but don't bet on any show of kindness as being corny. The world over there was Extremely dangerous and G.I.'s stuck together. We all had been staying in this hotel in Bangkok some 90 miles from the ship. We found that in Bangkok, just behind the American Embassy, a place where pretty young Thai girls stood in small room with large plexiglas windows. They could see out as you looked in. On them was a number to distinguish which you might want for five American dollars. Now to make something clear, this was not a brothel. This was a massage parlor which went almost all the way. The girls would bath you, lay you down on a table and give you a good massage, sometimes more, but mama son walked the halls and made a practice of banging on the door very sharply and squaling like a wild banshee if the girl was spending too much time with you. It was an experience cut short, however, worth the bott you paid. I left a new boy. We all commenced to drinking as much swill as we could. The swill was in quart bottles, no little eight ouncers there. Eventually the Thai Navy signalman that we hired on the pier in Utapo found us some private girls who would participate but, was not of the professional sort. Remember, life over there was hard and everybody was poor so, sometimes these girls did a lot to save their families and children. We were all doing what we thought was fun and spending money just like they wanted us to. After two months on the gun line and you didn't care though. Gino's girl was sitting on his lap when she jumped like a rabbit and took to squirming. It seems Gino had grabbbed an ice cube and slipped it between and up something that wasn't meant for anything that cold. It never stopped! Bangkok...never go without a shirt or spit on the sidewalk or make a negative remark about the king. Big trouble and no getting out of it either. Hot, nasty, smelly...there are few other words to explain it. All through the country were great temples with golden curls at the corners of them. Silver and gold, red, blue all colors you could think of. The temple held things that only those people believe in. Bright orange robs were everywhere and the skinny little guys who wore them had shaved heads and walked everywhere. Along every path or road the were small temples or shrines for those traveling. It was not uncommon to see people at these small shrines bowing and worshipping. It was not at all uncommon to have to watch every move you made in Thailand either, as there was always someone wanting Everything you had at what ever expense to you. They would rob you and leave you with nothing except one or two peices of clothing. They would knock you in the head or worse without remorse. Should have had some of those campus hippies there to experience that. Flowers in your hair...boy would that have changed. Gino and I were where we weren't supposed to be as usual. Back in the jungle away from the bungalows, which were also off limits. Never do this. It was night and we sat under a tin roof held up at each corner by a pole. Under the roof was barrels with boards laid across them. If you stayed there you sat on a broken chair or five gallon can or anything that made a seat. We had two quart bottles of Thai beer and I gave the little guy an American five dollar bill. That would have bought fifty of those nasty tasting brews. I asked for my change but no reply. Later, "How about my change." but there was none. Gino got wise long before I did. I asked once more and then knew for sure. It seemed the joint had taken on more customers. All were in shorts, flip-flops, jibbering a hundred miles an hour and smiling like a lot of little ants ready to jump on larger prey. Darkness, except one solitary light, no smiling faces, no change for my five, more of these skinny little Thais and there we were right in the middle of that little, nasty, sweaty smelling jungle hooch drinking beer. Pay attention to these signs. Golly... who walks in but that little Thai Navy signalman with the BIGGEST smile and a clear way out of there. Hi dee! He led us through a maze of hooches and bungalows like a native and we followed, much braver, for we had faced a soon to be bad situation with grave consequences. This Thai sailor lived better than most. We walked over planks of rough wood rotted by time. The water was stagnant and fowl as something dead. There were wooden Stakes driven deep into the water and mud and tied where they crossed. The long rotted planks were laid across these wooden stakes which made a support for them. They went on for what seemed to be miles. Littles bungalows, one after another, all with a common wall and a cloth across the door. The stagnant water was putread. How could they live like this? How could they not live like this!? Time for some more hippies to experience something. We arrived finally at the Thais house. He entered first showing custom so we would not be embarrassed. Off went the shoes and so did ours. We could not touch his shoes nor did he touch ours. Tradition...I wanted to see his military shoes however the lower you go on the body the less sacred and the feet were just as off limits as the hooches we had been to. He had two pretty little girls and a very nice and humble wife. They offered us food, in the form of rice and we ate. The beds were woven mats of some flimsy reed. During the waking hours they were rolled up and during the night they were unrolled. There were a couple of shelves and a cabinet of which he and his wife was quite pleased. How do people have so little? How could others have so much? The world is weird sometimes, however, they were there and we did better...no more to be said. You may never touch one of these people on the head, not good. Remember, the higher on the body supposedly the better...had to guard that. He wore a budda in a plastic box around his neck. He showed us where he took a hit in the leg mentioning proudly how the bullet had passed through giving the credit to the little plastic figure in the little plastic box. Figure. There is no understanding or figuring how he and his family survived in the stink and filth, or how they lived in the little six by Eight foot bungalow just three feet across from the others...all with a common wall. I hope I may never see such again. It's certain I haven't forgotten. Gino, Bob, Petey all off the third floor and into the pool! Idiots, that's all you can say. I was not there for that one. I was so hungry I could take no more and went to search for real food. Wow...Milk, goats milk or cows milk with four or five spoonfuls of sugar mixed in. That's the way they drink it. Meat, not so good as was the the rest but, I ate it anyway. Glad to be on my way, I watched the country pass by. I was hung over so bad and would be glad to return to the gun line to heal up. Let me mention that as soon as we left Sattihip and Utapo, the communists attacked and blew the base pretty badly. What a life...Why in the...? Emphasis Life was swift like a river flooding during that time. Hard and fast and sometimes very dangerous! I should have known better. I can only look back, which I often do, but that's better than living it all over. I learned from everything during those times. At my age now, I have learned quite a bit, just imagine how much more there is to know. 1972 Still a trip home and another WesPac to go.