January 22, 1973, Monday

I was feeling a bit worn out this morning. I decided to not shave. Before the navy I shaved every other day. Now I shave every day. Getting caught with stubble was a big no, no. We just had an appearance inspection two days ago. I decided to take a chance. I was thinking they wouldn’t have another one so soon. Big, big mistake.

After morning chow, that consisted of the usual powered eggs. (I douse them in ketchup, it makes them palatable) all Companies were ordered to this huge asphalt area. These grounds could hold 100,000 men easy. We gathered with the entire base. The boot campers, the schools, the administration, the SP’s the whole base that was military. Lines after line of men and some women. Twice a year the base captain does a surprise inspection. This was one of those. He personally inspects the entire assembly, he and his underlings. It took four hours. After he inspected your unit or company you were dismissed. We boot camper worms were last.

They set the Company’s up in order of point standings. The top company is up front, followed by number two and so forth. The order was; Texas Company, 447, 448, and I have no idea who was next after us.

When the captain finally came down our row I could see him from the corner of my eye. I didn’t dare turn my head, they would have ripped it off. He looked like he could be anybody’s nice older neighbor. Six officers followed him by rank. He didn’t stop too often. But he did look at every sailor, even if it was fleeting. He stopped when he got to me. “What is your name sailor?” He commanded. “Sir, George Licata, sir.” I responded, standing at attention. My eyes frozen in a forward stare. “Did you lose your razor, Mr. Licata?” the captain asked.

“Sir, no, sir,” I replied.

“Tell me, lad, what is your excuses for not shaving?” he calmly asked.

“Sir, I have no excuse. I admit I am wrong, sir,” I responded.

“Where you from, Mr. Licata?” he inquired.

“Sir, Denver, Colorado, sir,” I proudly answered.

“What possessed a lad from a landlocked state to join the navy?” he asked.

“Sir, I wanted to own a navy pea coat. Other than that, I have no idea, sir,” I answered.

He smiled and said, “I appreciate your honesty. It’s rare. Carry on, lad.” As he walked away to continue his inspection, I thought, whew. I avoided the big one. As the last of the captain’s officers passed, he stopped. He handed me a razor and said, “Shave.”

I learned dry shaving hurts and it left a stinging, raspy felling on my face, all day.

We were dismissed. We marched to chow. I was finished eating. I was tossing my trash and putting my tray on the rack. The CC was also finishing up and putting his tray on the tray rack. He said, “Lad, I have been trying to have a word with the captain for three years. He meets you one time, and you have a conversation. How do you do it?”

I answered without thinking. “Sir, it’s a matter of breaking the fucking rules, sir.”

He didn’t appreciate that answer. “You think that we should all break any rule we don’t like, lad?” he asked.

“Sir, no, sir. It’s not a method for everybody. However, there is a way to talk to the captain. I read it on the wall. You are allowed to request a captain’s mast, sir,” I said.

“A captain’s mast is for disciplinary problems lad. You don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, as he was blowing me off.

“No, sir, you are thinking about a normal captain’s mast. This is a requested captain’s mast. Respectfully, it is different, sir,” I said.

“Lad, in all the years that I have been with the navy, I have never heard of a requested captain’s mast,” he said.

I said, “Sir, I can conveniently show you, sir.” I already knew where the UCMJ was posted for this building.

“Lad, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Fall in!”

I did, and so did the company. We marched to a class. Later.