March 19, 1973, Monday

The classes here in San Diego are on the maintenance side of the hull technician rate. The classes in San Francisco were about saving the ship. We didn’t do that so well, we died much too often. I’m on the same base that boot camp was on, a different side of a very large base. I hope we don’t die here also. Some of our classmates are not with us; they scored too low to continue.

We begin the welding process tomorrow. Today we will do orientations in the morning and lectures in the afternoon. Later.

For the life of me I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I selected hull technician for my Rate. I have never welded in my life. I haven’t even hardly seen anybody do any welding. I think the firefighting distracted me. Add to that we are the ships plumbers. What do I know about plumbing? What the hell was I thinking of?

Each week is dedicated to a specific project. Like welding steel to steel. It sounds simple, unless you have no clue how. Brass to steel, tin to brass, brazing. All of them require a different welding technique. We are assigned our own booths. The booths are five feet by five feet, each have a bench with a vice. Tanks of oxygen and acetylene, on one wall. The other wall has the wires to an arc welder. A single shelf holds the nozzles, flux, rods, brushes, helmet, shields, goggles and all the attachments I need. The entrance has a black metal curtain.

Each project is welded to the next project. We are making a vessel of different metals welded to each other. The open end we will thread, so we can screw it to a water pressure pump. The vessel needs to hold 180 PSIs (pounds per square inch) before it leaks. Each week was a pass and move on week. If we don’t believe they are serious then look around at the empty seats. Pass and move on. Fail and scrap barnacles. The two sailors that have the best score can go on to underwater welding school in Hawaii. I have some time before my captain’s mast. Just enough time to go smoke a doobie. I just don’t know where. Later.

I found a baseball field, it was empty. I sat in the stands; with a cigarette and a joint between my fingers. I smoked both of them at the same time. I was hoping to not look suspicious.

The entrance to the room that held the captain’s mast had huge double doors with lots of shiny brass. The room looked like a dance hall, decorated with all sorts of military wall hangings. At one end was a large dark red table and facing a podium was a single chair. I was directed to stand at the podium. The chief warren officer closed the door behind him, as he left the room. I was alone in the big room.

He came in through a door behind the dark red table. I recognized him right away. He couldn’t possibly remember me, I hoped. I was standing at a perfect attention. “At ease mister Licata. I see you learned to shave,” he said as he sat down. “Yes, sir. I’m getting older and wiser I hope.” He was silent; he was looking through the file in front of him. Reading each page metallically. He looked up at me. “Mister Licata the jury is still out on the question if you’re wiser.” He glanced down at the papers, then back at me. “You attacked a superior?” he asked.

“No, sir, I didn’t see him. It was an accident.” I stated. “So say the wittiness. However you had his neck between your legs. That’s quite an accident.” He looked down at the papers for a moment, then back at me. “Someday Mister Licata you are going to have to tell me the story of how a lad from a landlocked state like Colorado, joins the navy?” He shuffled the papers. He wrote some stuff on the papers. He stacked them all into a neat pile. Placing the pile of papers on the table he said, “You are confined to the base with a 1600 hour curfew. This confinement will begin now. It will end on Monday, March 26, 1973. Check in with Ensign Pedersen out that door. You are dismissed.” I saluted him, he returned the salute. I did a smart about-face. I walked through the double doors to the chief’s desk. He told me to wait in the outer room. I found the room with empty chairs on every wall, I sat down. Two hours later I got my paperwork. Later.

I checked in to my new home for the next week, then I went to chow. Fucking Brice. It’s lights out in this barracks. Later.