July 11, 1973, Wednesday

This morning I asked Wascowski if I could go get a haircut before I went on my work detail. He said nothing doing. I asked him if he had a chit for me to sign. He said he won’t play my game. What an idiot, this means if I keep my fuck ups at a low key, it’s easier to get away with it.

After muster I was assigned to First-Class Petty Officer Rodriquez. We were going to do some landscaping. Fifteen of us got into the back of a navy cargo truck. The truck was on its way to the job. We were standing in the back of the truck.

A black chauffeur driven limousine drove past us going the other way, it turned around and followed us. The limo driver honked his horn. We pulled over. The driver, a Second class petty officer got out of the limo, he walked over and had a talk with Rodriquez. When he said what he had to say, he got back in the limo and drove off. Rodriquez got out of the cab of the truck and walked back to us. “Licata get down. That was the captain. You’re ordered to report to the barbers to get a haircut. When you finish you are ordered to report to the captain at his headquarters. He spotted you with your hippie hair. He is not happy. You are dismissed Licata. Do you know where the captain’s headquarters are?” he asked.

I laughed.

I got down from the truck and headed off to the hair stylist. I told her that I needed a haircut that was regulation to the tee. It had to be perfect. We used a ruler. I thanked her and tipped her well. What the hell was that Rodriquez asking me, do I know where the captain is? I do and have known for a long time. I not only know where the captains office is, I know where to sit while I wait for him.

I waited longer than usual. Finally I was called to the office. He was sitting behind his oversized desk. He had files and papers all over. I stood at attention and saluted. He said at ease Mr. Licata. He smiled at me and said, “I knew you were going to get the opportunity to tell me why a person from a landlocked state joins the navy.”

I said, “Are you serious, sir?”

He said, “Go on, enlighten me. I am curious, son.”

I laid it all out. I didn’t hold back. I told him I was protesting the war the weekend before I was sworn in. I told him about my low draft number. I told him I wanted a peacoat. I told him why I didn’t belong here. I told him everything. He agreed.

He asked why I keep showing up on his radar. I said it’s proof that the navy doesn’t want me. And if the navy was smart, they would realize it. I continued, “With all due respect sir you should cut your losses and send me home. That’s what I would do, with all due respect.” I waited for his response.

He said, “Mr. Licata, I have never, in my life, meet someone with so much to lose. Be so damn honest.”

I not sure if that’s good or bad. I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything. He broke the silence. “The base chaplain and some of the officers speak highly of you. I find that highly unusual. It borders on fraternization however it is a sign of the changing times.”

“Mr. Licata, why do we keep having problems with the hairs that grow on your head? You were ordered to get a haircut. Why haven’t you complied with that order?” He said sternly. I was confused; I told him so. He said he can’t see where I got my hair cut. It was not a regulation haircut. “Sir, can you tell me what part of my hair cut is not regulation. The lady went to great lengths to get it right for your approval sir. If you have a ruler we can measure it.”

His reply wasn’t what I expected. “You went to the base stylist. I see. I never liked the idea of having a civilian barber on the base. I don’t like the way she pushes the envelope. I don’t like your hair cut. I think it’s time to shut her down.” Wow. “Sir, don’t blame the lady. I was the one that told her how to cut my hair. She was just listening to my instructions, sir. I’ll march over to the base barbers and get it cut by them right now, sir. Just don’t blame the lady.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “See that you do, mister.” I saluted him. He didn’t salute, he said, “You’re dismissed.”

I did my about-face and hurried to the butcher barbers. I wanted to end this quickly before he gets more time to think about closing her down. After I got my cut I hurried back to the captain’s office. My hair looked like I was in a cat fight and I lost.

I checked in with the Warren officer at the front desk. He said the captain told him to take care of me. He looked at the wreck called my hair cut. He said, “That’s better, lad. You’re dismissed.”

I decided not to join up with the work crew. I’m going back to the barracks, I’m changing into my civvies. I asked Wascowski if he wanted to write me up. He declined. I’m going to a movie. I think The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean is showing. Later.