Chapter 15

Long Beach, CA – August, 1961

Bobby had gotten through the jungle, the mountains, a short visit with his parents and orders to report to Long Beach. He’d taken advantage of a month’s leave to go home and visit his family and friends. His life was polarized but the Navy and Ashland were both his family. He’d been sobered by the aging of his parents. It was the nudge he needed to get a piece of his salary and benefits sent home.

As the bus pulled in, he retrieved his belongings from the bowels of the luggage hold. His sea bag was slung over his shoulder as he walked to report to his transport ship, the USS Phoebe. She was only a few years old and his damage control skills would be broadened to include the engine room. It was headed to Japan where he would be transferred to his final destination, the USS Leonard F. Mason. His next job would be to use the education and training between the Magazine, watch duty and repairing service crafts for the amazing greyhounds of the sea, destroyers. In ninety days, his final destination was Yokosuka, Japan, to join the Westpac 7^th Division. Fortunately, it was a peacekeeping tour.

Exhausted but anxious to claim his berth and fold all his belongings into his tiny personal locker, Bobby climbed the gangway. He lowered his sea bag, looked straight ahead and saluted. “Permission to come aboard, sir.”

The sentry reached for his papers, ID, and looked over his clipboard. “Permission granted, Petty Officer Higgins. Present yourself in the aft engine room to Chief Richards. He will direct you to your quarters.”

He’d familiarized himself with the Bluebird class ship. She was much smaller than a destroyer and looked forward to his new classroom time. Bobby wanted the at sea training before he reported to his destroyer. The heat of the communist/democratic tug of war was starting to leak into the ears of the sailors. Bobby had seen his share of damaged crafts due to accidental collisions, plane accidents or fire damage. He’d been on the piers with an occasional billet to help retrieve a sunken Filipino boat. It was usually a drill for him, but also a chance to help the locals learn to fix their own. He loved to pass on the knowledge that the old salts had taken the time to show him.

Bobby was a good welder and could craft just about anything without a formal blueprint. But he knew that he was now underway to test minesweeping tactics and be the damage control leader in the event things went awry. He passed the ship store and barbershop towards the stairs descending into the bowels of the engine room quarters and workspace. Tossing his sea bag below, his feet ignored the steps as he slid down the handrails. The smell of paint and fuel would become the perfume of his new home.

He wove through the tucked-up berths and felt the temperature increasing. Another snipe looked up, and Bobby asked, “Master Chief Richard‘s office?”

“Around the corner, off the carpenter’s shop,” the sailor said, fiddling with his gauges. “Just arriving?”

“Yeah, PO 3^rd Class Higgins,” Bobby said, offering his hand.

The sweaty engineman gave him a short handshake and returned to his job. “Petty Officer 2^nd Class, Bill Jones,” he said. “See you in the mess hall.”

Bobby continued through the bowels of the minesweeper to seek out his chief, his watch schedule and his new drills. An explosion at this level would certainly put him in a new damage control situation.

Better not tell mom, he told himself. He saw the engraved nameplate on the door: Master Chief Stanley Richards. He took a breath and knocked. “Enter,” commanded the voice on the other side.

“Petty Officer 3^rd Class Higgins, reporting for duty, sir,” Bobby said.

“Have a seat,” Richards answered, and motioned him to sit in the vinyl chair in front of the metal desk. Clipboards hung from the wall behind him, as well as family pictures. “Welcome aboard. I reviewed your record and you seem very interested in learning to cross over many duties.”

Bobby was impressed. “Yes, sir. If someone can’t stand in their shoes, I’d like to know that I am able, sir.”

His chief sat back and showed no reaction. “You have an accent. Where are you from?”

“Born and raised in Alabama, sir,” Bobby answered. Master Chief Richards continued to stare blankly.

“Gotta a problem with color? Race?” he asked.

“No, sir. I’m part of the US Navy. I can’t speak for others, but I’m a team player, sir,” Bobby said confidently and with conviction.

“Good, here is your berth number. Go sling your hammock. Find your way about,” he said, searching the pages of Bobby’s file. “Watch standing instruction and duties with Petty Officer Jones at 0900 in the aft fire room. Plan of the Day is posted around the ship. Have you participated in an Oscar drill?”

“Briefly, while on a transport ship,” Bobby said.

“We have one tomorrow. Get Jones to review the procedure to retrieve our dummy, Oscar. If an officer grabs you to miss muster, obey him. We’ll be testing the department heads for honest reporting.”

“Yes, sir,” Bobby said, looking directly at his Master Chief.

“Dismissed,” Chief Richards picked up his coffee mug and leaned back in his chair.

Bobby stood and saluted as he left to seek out his new bed for the next couple of months. He just hoped they had a few liberties as the ship island-hopped her way towards Japan. He knew he would learn a lot during sea trials. There was no Shit River liberty ahead of him and no girls, just girlie magazines.

Yokosuka, Japan – December 1961

As the bosun whistle announced the call to the mess hall, Bobby sighed with relief that his time at sea was nearly over. Four months and he was ready to hit the pier. He’d played poker, watched the same movies over and over and stood many watches as if there was a threat to his engine room. The only threat that he was aware of was the department thieves trying to find spare parts for their own tasks. It reminded him of the Huks back in Subic Bay that tried to trespass into the Powder Magazine and grab military issue for black market sales.

REPLENS beside those huge oilers with cables being heaved into heavy seas were always exciting but on the edge of dangerous. One snap of a fuel cable or rogue wave shoving the hulls together was constantly on the minds of the sailors. As they held the lines taut, the ships had to head into the seas and they were all covered with the white water of the Pacific.

“Remember Rev. Lindon being transferred over the cable to be relieved so he could head home for shore leave?” Bill asked as he scooped his eggs and gravy.

“Yep, I was on that REPLEN,” Bobby said. “That was one rough fuel replenish. The waves were really confusing the cable lines between the Cons. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a high line transfer with a cussing chaplain!”

“I’m sure he’d already been baptized,” Bill said with a smirk. “Best REPLEN of my life watching him dunk under the waves and come up saying ‘God damn it’... three times.”

Bobby had to laugh at the replay. “He was soaked by the time he hit the other ship.”

As they’d approached the harbor, the ship wasn’t granted permission to dock at the pier. They had to tie up on the side of a destroyer and head to shore on the utility boats. He and Bill had become fast friends. Bill was from Illinois. He’d resisted the idea of being drafted into service and decided to get it over with. After high school, there were few job opportunities in his small town. Even the washing machine factory wasn’t hiring. Bobby knew the small town economic scenario too well.

“I know you’ll be heading to your destroyer in a few days. Want to hang out?” Bill asked.

Bobby wasn’t sure. Yokosuka wasn’t like Subic Bay. There were only random notes on the bulletin board warning of the off limit spots and the girls to avoid. He didn’t want to complicate his new duty assignment just to blow off some sea steam.

“Do the Marines control the gates?” Bobby asked. “They always seemed to police the sailors a bit more returning than leaving.”

“Nah, just keep out of the way of shore patrol.” Bill gulped his coffee and slid the tray away. “Well think about it. I thought it would be difficult to engage with the locals, but the Japanese want us here.”

This base was huge compared to Subic Bay. The intimacy and community would not be the same. But, here he was being assigned to the 7^th Division to try and keep peace with the communists. It was his first WESTPAC. Maybe he did need to have some mindless fun first. The seas had been rough and the winds became colder as the ship got closer to Yokosuka. Pea coats were pulled out for lookout watches. He’d been through too many overboard drills with the famous Oscar dummy. Everyone took it seriously in the event that one day it would be a shipmate’s life that depended on a well practiced search and rescue.

“I have liberty tomorrow after 1400,” Bobby replied, “Work for you?”

“Meet you at the gate,” Bill confirmed. “I have a few dungaree tasks before I try and beat Cookie’s ass tonight. Need to get some of my money back I lost to him in poker.”

“Swell!” Bobby said absently and headed back towards the engine room hatch. He paused and looked across the gulf and tried to project where he was headed on his new assignment, the USS Leonard F. Mason.

USS Leonard F. Mason (DD-852) – December, 1961

“Petty Officer Higgins, please report to the stern 0700,” the scratchy intercom boomed. Bobby had just finished breakfast and was throwing his shaving kit in his sea bag. He double checked for his orders and threw on his pea coat. The vessel from the Yokosuka boat pool would be waiting to take him to the pier and move him to his first destroyer. He slung the bag over his shoulder and made his way to the fantail.

Bobby approached the OOD and placed his bag beside him. Saluting, he said, “I have permission to go ashore.”

“Permission granted,” he responded. Bobby walked briskly to the utility boat. Protocol dictated he sit forward. The pier was a short ride away and he needed to be present before 0730. He spotted some snow across the base and the icy wind stung his face.

“Morning. I’m Petty Officer Higgins. This sure is a contrast from the tropics,” Bobby said to a seaman. He buttoned the top button of his peacoat.

“Seaman Guffin,” the man responded. “Where you off to?”

“Finally on my first destroyer. The Leonard F. Mason,” Bobby said, pulling his coat collar up.

“Ah, the Leakin’ Leonard,” Seaman Guffin said. “I think that’s Captain Graham’s ship. I hear he’s one hell of a captain.”

“Yeah, I guess captains can make or break a crew,” Bobby said. “I’ve been pretty lucky so far.”

His water taxi pulled up to the pier and he watched as they moored. The sternhook threw the fenders and Seaman Guffin quickly hopped to the pier and secured the line to the cleat. In spite of Bobby’s excitement, he tempered his pace to avoid several patches of ice.

He turned the corner and there she was… DD 852. The gangway bounced under his weight. He saluted the ensign and approached the JOOD. He saluted and said, “Permission to board, sir?” He handed his ID and orders to the lieutenant.

“Reporting for duty, uh…Petty Officer Higgins?” he said. “Damage Control?”

“Yes, sir,” Bobby said, holding his salute.

With a Navy issued ballpoint pen, the lieutenant filled in the date and time of Bobby’s arrival. “Permission granted. Report to the ship’s office,” he said.

Bobby picked up his sea bag, stifled a grin and walked across the quarterdeck. As he stepped through the hatch, the temperature dramatically switched. Before he approached the office, he took off his coat and stepped aside as a chief passed. Someday that will be me, he thought. He stood in front of the window of the office and saw a yeoman hunched over the typewriter. Before he could knock, he was motioned to enter.

“Third Class Petty Officer Higgins reporting for duty, sir,” Bobby said, placing his documents on the desk.

“Mess Gear. Clear the mess decks,” was announced over the intercom. The passageways and ladder wells suddenly became busy with the day crews. 0h-eight-hundred and Bobby had been whisked off by a petty officer to his berth and given a quick orientation of the ship. The denim bell bottoms and chambray shirts blurred through the passageway and down hatches. It was obvious that he had just come aboard. He’d shed the dark crackerjacks and blend in soon.

“Higgins? Did you hear me?” the petty officer asked. “This is your locker. You have the morning to get organized and changed. Report to Chief Connerty in the aft engine room by 1000. Again, welcome aboard. Plan of the Day is posted around the ship.”

Bobby dropped the sea bag on his berth and saluted. “Yes, sir. Ten-hundred.”