Military life

I reported to Norfolk to await orders. I was kept busy doing office work and standing watches at stations on the base until, about two weeks after I arrived, my orders came in. I was to be assigned to the USS Bache (DD 470) which would be deployed to the Mediterranean. Fantastic! I could visit my birthplace in France. I would have to check my status, though. I was classified as a deserter because I had not obeyed the French draft board to report to Bordeaux. I could be shot.

It turned out that it didn't matter. Three days later, I received a new set of orders sending me to the Philippines in WESTPAC (Western Pacific). Ouch! I left with ten days leave and stopped briefly in Chicago to say goodbye to family and friends.

It was ten degrees below zero when I left in January 1967. One flight to the Air Force base in Oakland took around four hours, military transport to Philippines to Clark Air Force Base via Guam in seventeen hours and BAM! I'm in 87 degree weather. A two-hour bus ride to Subic Bay and I checked into the base. Because I left Chicago in ten below zero, I was not appropriately dressed.

My ship, USS Ingersoll (DD652), was still in the Gulf of Tonkin, so I was assigned to KP duty, unloading cargo at Cubi Point, and the like. Cubi Point has a very short airstrip and is located high on the side of a mountain. I learned one reason the Flying Tigers are named that. Talk about white knuckle flying. The heavily loaded planes would first make a pass over the short runway and then loop around for the final approach. Their wheels would touch just at the beginning of the tarmac and the pilots would apply their brakes and reverse thrust as soon as the wheels hit. It was as though they were avoiding an accident whenever they landed. The screeching of desperate braking was deafening. After a twenty-four hour break to sleep and recover from the Pacific crossing, most of the newcomers would spend the next twenty-four hours at Cubi Point--unloading planes. Very relaxing...

I had never experienced poverty up close and personal before. Next to the base was Olongapo City, a virtual cesspool of humanity. Existing primarily to serve as a large whorehouse for the base, my heart ached at what the population did for survival. The first time I ventured to investigate the town was eye-opening. As we were crossing the river, dozens of canoes jockeyed for position beneath the bridge, imploring the passersby to throw some coins for them to fetch. The water was murky brown and obviously not sanitary, but these young men would dive in after any change that was tossed their way. The streets we walked were filthy and dusty, with refuse scattered everywhere. Wildly decorated jitneys would be crisscrossing the area to pick up fares as fast as they could. Each could hold up to eight passengers and, for a dollar, they would take anyone to the first bar nearby.

We were briefed on arrival about how to conduct ourselves in town. There had just been an incident where a sailor was returning to base with his arm out the window of a jitney. He had what appeared to be a valuable watch on his wrist and both were taken by a machete blow just before reaching the bridge. I can take a hint. I had my beers on base.

When the Ingersoll arrived, I reported to the Ship's Office. The first class yeoman who greeted me looked much like my father and, upon looking through my service record, asked me if I wanted to work in the office - in French! He was a Quebecois and, I responded in French that I would. Of course, I accepted the offer. That would be better duty than chipping paint and swabbing decks. Leonel Banville and I would get along very well.

I missed my family and my old life, but everything was a new experience. My explorer spirit was happy, even though I left family behind. Not knowing if I would ever see them again, I had to face my assignment. It was impossible to pout.

Shipboard life was like a small community, similar to my little town in France. Everyone had assigned tasks and fully realized that the whole crew depended on each other for those tasks being done.

Our senior officer, Captain Strohm, stopped to introduce himself soon after we sailed from Subic Bay. He asked Banville who I was and started talking to me. He asked me if I had any books. I told him I received many books from home regularly. He asked if he could borrow them and that he would return them after a couple of days. I hadn't been in the military before, but I did not find any reason to say no to a commanding officer.

After a few weeks of sharing some communication with the captain, he asked me to be his phone talker. The captain's phone talker stands next to him on the bridge during maneuvers and relays his orders to the crew. He said he liked my enunciation and lack of accent.

I became the captain's phone talker and saw all the action from the bridge. The ship's communication system is vital. Talkers are issued voice-activated phones that plug into a special outlet and strap behind the neck with earphones attached. The mouthpiece has a button that, when depressed, allows the voice vibrations to generate enough current to broadcast messages to all other phones plugged into the system. All of them are active at all stations during combat and refueling. For all docking, departures, refueling and battle conditions, I relayed orders from the bridge to all stations in the ship.

My first combat experience on the bridge with the captain was memorable.

General Quarters sounded and I reported to the bridge with my phone and plugged in. We were steaming toward shore with two other ships, the USS Stoddard, another destroyer and the USS Canberra, a cruiser. Destroyers have four cannon mounts - 51, 52, (forward) 53, and 54 (aft) from prow to stern. The gun barrels are five inches across and the bullet can go five miles. That's why the number five precedes their position. Cruisers can fire eight miles. The Stoddard and we were to soften up an area near the beach to enable Marine helicopters to swoop in and drop their men. The Canberra would be firing deeper up the hills to destroy gun emplacements. We reached our positions and opened fire. Explosions of quick succession on the beach were on their mark by both ships.

As I watched the action, I became a live reporter for the rest of the ship, something that had not been done before. I would be thanked by the other talkers many times for this. It is not easy to be in the belly of a ship in combat without any knowledge of the goings-on topside, so I was just a roving reporter for the other talkers. They truly appreciated the relief from not knowing.

Suddenly, I saw flashes on the beach and reacted:

"Captain, shore batteries, shore batteries!" I roared.

The captain turned to the helmsman. In a loud voice:

"Quartermaster, what's our attitude?"

"275 North, sir!" came the reply.

"Come to starboard 10 degrees. All engines full!" the captain bellows.

The explosions were all around, both from cannons and rockets. Several were close, but we had already begun evasive maneuvers. (Artillerymen use "patterns" to target an objective in order to zero in on the exact range and adjust their guns accordingly.) A moving target three miles away is not so easy to pattern. That's the reason for fast evasive reaction.

Ten seconds later:

"Come to port ten degrees, full speed ahead!" We weaved back and forth every few seconds until we weaved our way out of range. The Stoddard was hit and lost a couple of men. The Canberra was winged, but not seriously.

When General Quarters was called off, I returned to the office and pondered the captain's words. I had never heard the word "attitude" used in the context of the captain's orders. It then dawned on me that, if we don't like what we see in our future, we can always change our attitude. That life lesson instilled itself in me permanently that day.

One duty tour took forty-five days. Talk about cabin fever! There is no way a ship like ours can do that long of a stint without replenishing fuel and food. Every seven to ten days, we would accost a carrier serving in the area. We would cast "monkey fists" from our ship to their side and they would gather them in. We would tie larger lines to our end and let them pull the stronger lines across the divide until they could secure multiple access ropes spanning the two ships. This was great fun in heavy weather. If we were transferring personnel to our ship and the waves were rolling, the guys in the safety chair would be bouncing up and down, as well as sideways, for twenty minutes or so before we could secure them on our deck. Our guys would be cheering them on, telling them to throw up in the ocean before they came onboard.

Most of the time, I spent my day as though I was dreaming. Because all the experiences were new and different from anything else I had ever done, I observed the environment with keen eyes and tried to drink in as much meaning as possible. Regardless of the conditions, I was never fearful because, after all, it was a dream. A glorious one, at that.

Other than being on battle station, we had some interesting ports of call. I enjoyed five days in Hong Kong, arguably the busiest and most cosmopolitan of cities. The huge harbor was bustling with hundreds of merchant ships from all over the world; sampans, junks, and water taxis, as well as military vessels. Skyscrapers on the sides of the mountains that formed a bowl around the harbor, world-class hotels, restaurants, shopping and a true melting pot of humanity.

After 45 days in the Gulf, we headed for R&R in Osaka and Yokosuka via Okinawa. Unfortunately, we were in the midst of a typhoon, which is the Asian version of a hurricane. For three solid days, no one was allowed topside for fear of being washed overboard. We were constantly battered by the waves for those days. That is what cured me of seasickness, I believe. There was no way of keeping anything on tables. At one point, we tipped over so much that everyone must have been squished onto the port side and the ship just hung. If we hit 47 degrees tilt, we swamp the ship. Wait - wait - wait? We must have been at 46 before the ship gave a huge shudder (twice) and righted herself for the next wave. A collective "Phew!" from 290 crew members filled the ship.

Osaka was interesting for many of the same reasons Hong Kong had been. No mountains with buildings on the side, but it has an underground city beneath the city. The cars stay above and people walk below. Innumerable businesses, shops and restaurants go on for miles and miles beneath the rolling wheels above.

One night will stand out as a Top Ten. As we retreated from the shore after one of our sorties, night was falling. I had a midnight watch coming in a few hours, so I decided to stay topside and ruminate on the day's events. Slowly, I came to realize that I had no idea why I was here. The event that just passed was as though I had been watching a newsreel. The gulf was totally calm; its surface looked like smooth, flat, molten tar in the dark. All running lights were off for stealth reasons and no moon above. The only light came from the side of the ship in the wake's phosphorus trail and from the stars above. As I looked up, the whole sky began lighting up for me. I recalled a day in France when I was five years old, reclining on the side of the hill behind our house, experiencing the very same thing.

As I continued staring up, more and more stars came into view. I struggled to keep from blinking. After a half hour or so, it seemed as though there were more stars than darkness in the sky. I could even see the ship's deck by their glow. Those were the days of relatively clean air. I was only five years old at the first instance and this one magnified the awe-inspiring beauty of where we exist. I felt very much at peace, regardless of the happenings of the day.

After a few months, we were headed back to San Diego. Another significant event happened when we stopped in Guam for refueling. We were to spend the day there and split the crew into two groups to go ashore for a break. I went in the morning to do some sightseeing and gawk at the goony birds. They are one funny avian to behold. No fear, slow motion waddle, hilarious. Returning to the ship's office for some reading, I hear the General Quarters alarm and grab my phone to head for the bridge. I got there just before the captain and noticed his florid face. Not good.

A Russian trawler was offshore a few miles from our ship. Their only purpose at the time was surveillance and intelligence gathering. The captain issued orders to head for it. When we got there, he ordered all garbage to be taken to the fantail and made the helmsman circle the trawler at what appeared to be a too close distance. We dumped garbage all around the trawler to attempt to foul up their surveillance readings. After the garbage was depleted, he seemed to get angrier and barked:

"Stachura, tell the crew to prepare to ram!"

I did no such thing. I faced him and said:

"Captain, we only have half the crew on board. If something goes wrong, there may be some repercussions."

His face went from red to white. He gave orders to return to shore.

After a stop in Hawaii for a pleasant three days, we finally docked in our home port - San Diego. Not long after, a change of command took place for our next deployment. This is a very ceremonial event where the entire crew forms a phalanx on board for the exiting captain and to welcome the new captain. There usually is strict adherence to protocol in the process. However, a slight change occurred as Captain Strohm was passing by; he stopped and looked at me and said:

"Thanks, Stachura."

While in California, I applied to three colleges. I wanted to get and early out for the September 1968 semester. The first response came from Illinois State University in Normal, Illinois. I took a bus from Subic Bay to Clark Air Force Base on September 4, 1968 to fly to Treasure Island in San Francisco and start another new life.