On this date, 50 years ago, I arrived at Naval Officer Candidate School (NAVOCS or OCS), Naval Base, Newport, R.I., for the first of my 1,035 days on active duty in the Navy.
There were about 225 others in the class designated 6903 (third class to enter since the beginning of federal fiscal year 1969) and we joined three classes that had entered on a monthly frequency before us.
I had driven alone from my family home in Springfield, Mass. Current directions show about a two-hour drive, but I don’t think some of the current highways were then in operation, so it was likely longer.
OCS was located on Coddington Point, just north of Newport itself. The aerial view at right was taken around this time, as it appeared in the 6903 edition of Seachest, the OCS “yearbook.”
I remember driving my 1965 Sunbeam Tiger, the first car I personally purchased, into a dirt parking area. Upon getting out of the car, I was immediately set upon by a person in uniform who demanded that I button up the sport coat I was wearing — “All the buttons!” I was then told to retrieve my belongings and follow him. I don’t remember if I had a suitcase or a duffel bag. Then again, I suspect we had been told not to bring much in the way of personal clothing.
Fellow civilian Bob Hamilton recalls his arrival thusly: “I drove to the parking lot to park and check in. I got out of the car and I saw an officer candidate in the distance walking toward me. Knowing that he was a naval officer and a gentleman, I extended my hand in fellowship. The closer I got to him, I then understood him to be screaming at me that buttons were for buttoning. That’s as friendly as it got.”
We joined other civilians on their last day as such and others in uniform and marched, less than smartly, to a building of some sort, where we began the experience of being transformed from a civilian to whatever creature a fledgling officer candidate lowlife can be. My father, who was an Army veteran of WWII, may have told me that I would get a short haircut upon arrival. To preserve some semblance of style and individuality, I had gone to a barber only a couple of days earlier and had gotten the shortest haircut I can remember. I figured they would see it and let me skip the haircut. Right. First dash of cold reality.
I was not “given a haircut.” My head was “sheared,” in a manner close to that the officer candidate in the photo enjoyed. Then it was a whirlwind. At some point, being issued clothing, with sizes often being determined by the judgment of the Navy enlisted man looking you up and down. “Keep moving. Keep moving.” “Marching” somewhat haphazardly, laden with clothing and other stuff, from building to building. At some point, we must have eaten. At another point, you ended up in your squad, a group of 12-15 officer candidates. Four cohorts of squads, having arrived a month apart, made up a company. Sixteen companies formed the regiment. I was one of 14 members of Alfa Company 6903. The companies followed the NATO phonetic alphabet, Alfa, Bravo, Charlie . . . with the 16th company named Quebec. (India was not used.) I doubt much, if any, thought went into who went into which company, or who roomed with whom in the two-man cement-block rooms.
By the time we were in our assigned rooms in Nimitz Hall, one of the two huge and relatively new residential structures at OCS, we were under the control of the A6903 “seniors,” the cohort of the company that was to graduate next. And that was not fun. More to come on the first several days at OCS.