Category: NAVOCS

(We have learned, sadly, that two members of A6903 — Mike McCance and Bill Peeters — have died. Don Cockrill has spoken with their widows and I have exchanged emails with them. Susan McCance has provided some information and pictures. We’ll add to the information as they are able to provide it.)

Michael D. McCance was from Las Vegas, Nevada, and came to OCS after graduating from the University of Nevada.

Only eight years after leaving OCS, Mike was reported missing in June 1977 after his boat had been found submerged off San Francisco International Airport. A boating companion was also reported missing. The two were never found.

The Coast Guard said there was no explanation of why the two men were missing or why the boat should have sunk as there was no indication of damage to the 25-foot craft.

Susan McCance said Mike was adamant about safety on the water. Their boat carried at least nine life jackets, she said, none of which was found aboard. Mike’s efforts saving himself and his companion would have been complicated, she said, by the companion’s inability to swim. Susan and others, she said, suspect that a great white shark, which often frequent San Francisco Bay, may have taken their lives.

Memorial services for Mike, 30, who lived with Susan in Foster City, Calif., were held June 15, 1977.

Mike served on the USS Theodore E. Chandler (DD-717), Susan said. He was medically discharged, she said, following an accident in which he suffered a “shattered ankle.”

After the Navy, Mike graduated from Hastings College of Law, which is affiliated with the University of California, in San Francisco. Mike and Susan were married in October 1973 at the Carmel Mission in California and they honeymooned in Tahiti. In February 1976, Mike received a master of laws degree in taxation from New York University School of Law, and the couple returned to the Bay Area. Susan lives now in Pebble Beach, Calif.

Susan recalled they would often take the boat out on Sundays and “just float and read the paper. Never more than one drink. His discipline was above and beyond.” She also remembered him making a pledge. “When I met him, he said he would smoke his last cigarette the day he passed the Bar. Sure enough, that was his last cigarette.”

Personally, I remember Mike as a friendly, warm-hearted guy who could still come out with a witty, sarcastic turn-of-phrase. Hope you’ll share memories you may have as well.

Today, 50 years ago (a Friday then), members of 6903 graduated from NAVOCS and were commissioned Ensigns. Being mid-February, indeed Valentine’s Day, we were back in Building 1801 for the exercise. 

It started at 1100. We heard speeches and more speeches. Chaplain McMorrow gave the invocation and Rear Admiral Van Arsdall, commander of the Newport Naval Base, made “introductions.” Captain Moul, commanding officer of NAVOCS and the Naval Schools Command, offered “remarks.” Our student speaker was William Martens, from Oscar Company.

Rear Admiral Raymond Peet, Commander, Amphibious Training Command, US Atlantic Fleet, gave the graduation address, presented certificates to honor graduates, and conducted the commissioning oath.

I, [name], do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.

Then we listened to the Officer Candidate Choir sing the Navy Hymn and the OC Band play the National Anthem . . . and it was over. Off to duty assignments. But, first, the first salute. 

Apparently, the “first salute” tradition dates back to the 19th century and it involves a newly commissioned officer giving to the enlisted who first renders him a salute a silver dollar. I don’t recall that we were that specific or generous. I recall giving someone — likely a Chief Petty Officer who worked with officer candidates — a regular dollar bill. Anyone do differently? I’m pretty sure the scene in the photo below didn’t count.

I don’t remember details of this day at all. So how did all those details at the beginning of this post get there? In one of those weird occurrences that make me wonder about cosmic influences, I was looking yesterday for my Navy medical records to check about the vaccinations we received. In the course of separating a piece of paper from the pile, probably for the first time in decades, I saw something I had no recollection that I possessed. It was the program from our graduation and commissioning exercises. !?

Here’s a gallery of pages from that program. It’s on autoplay. You can advance by clicking on the image in the direction you want and pause by hovering.

On the day before graduation, we received an honorable discharge from the Navy as enlisted men. Here’s is my discharge.

We also received a “diploma” from OCS.

After the oath, we were Ensigns. I guess the next day, one of the bigger changes from that status went into effect. We began to be paid at a monthly rate of $343.20, plus we began to receive the monthly Basic Allowance for Subsistence (BAS), which was $47.88. The new monthly total for our compensation came to $391.08, an increase of 73 percent over our pay as Officer Candidates Under Instruction. The BAS, however, meant that, as officers, we weren’t going to get food for free anymore. We would pay cash until we joined an Officers Mess, which, in my experience, bought the cheapest food possible so that the members could keep the maximum amount of that $47.88.

At right is my commission. Under the title “The President of the United States of America” and the Seal of the United States, it reads: “To all who shall see these presents, greeting: Know Ye, that reposing special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities of William Michael McDonald I do appoint him a Reserve Officer in the grade of Ensign, Special Duty (Intelligence) United States Navy to rank as such from the Fourteenth day of February, nineteen hundred and Sixty-Nine. This Officer will therefore carefully and diligently discharge the duties of the office to which appointed by doing and performing all manner of things thereunto belonging. And I do strictly charge and require these Officers and other personnel of lesser rank to render such obedience is as due an officer of this grade and position. And this Officer is to observe and follow such orders and directions from time to time as may be given by me or the future President of the United States of America or other Superior Officers acting in accordance with the laws of the United States of America. This commission is to continue in force during the pleasure of the President of the United States of America for the time being, under the provisions of those public laws relating to Officers of the Armed Forces of the United States of America and the component thereof in which this appointment is made. Done at the City of Washington, this Second day of December in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and Sixty-Eight, and of the Independence of the United States of America the one hundred and Ninety-Third. — Effective: Date Accepted — By the President: Charles K. Duncan Vice Admiral, U.S. Navy Chief of Naval Personnel — Paul R. Ignatius Secretary of the Navy.”

Except for name, designation, and, I believe, the date the commission was “done,” all our commissions read the same. I mention the date the commission was “done,” because in this instance the “Second day of December in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and Sixty-Eight” was my 22nd birthday. I doubt all the commissions were issued on the birthday of the individual; in which case, how special!

After the ceremonies on this date 50 years ago, I think I pretty much just packed up, headed out to the parking lot, and drove home. I certainly hope I took the time to say farewell to my A6903 classmates. They were a special group of young men, with whom I am proud to have been affiliated. I salute them!

I was next to attend Intelligence training at the Fleet Operational Intelligence Training Center in Norfolk, Va. I’m sure we had a little bit of leave and travel time before reporting for duty. No longer Officer Candidates, we were now real Navy.

 

Tonight, 50 years ago, some of us in A6903 attended the Graduation Ball, held the night before graduation. (Today’s date was a Thursday then.)

The picture — from the 6906 Seachest — shows that it took place in the NAVOCS gym, Building 1801. The photo also shows Officer Candidates wearing unstriped uniforms for the last time. And nice outfits, ladies!

I didn’t go. Welcome any memories from those who did.

I guess the ball meant something to some young ladies in the area. As cited in a previous post — Liberties — Greenspon remembers going out with a local girl who was not pleased when she learned he would be going to the ball with his long-time girl friend. Only reason, she told him, that she had dated him was the opportunity to go to the ball.

While we had only one graduation ball to attend, local girls had many. A cohort of Officer Candidates would graduate every month, I believe, and a graduation ball would take place the night before each one. I bet some of those dresses in the picture above saw duty often.

More elements of our NAVOCS experience.

Firefighting

One of the most exciting evolutions we had was firefighting. It took place under controlled circumstances, of course, but fire has a certain lack of control inherent in it.

The picture above shows action outdoors. I remember being on a hose crew advancing toward fire inside a structure (USS Buttercup?). My strongest memory is that I tried something I believe we were told prior to the exercise. I recall we were told that you could extract oxygen from the water in the hose through the surface of the hose by affixing your lips to the hose and breathing in. That seemed implausible, but I tried it during the exercise, when the smoke was particularly heavy, and I remember it being effective. (This also could well have been a joke pulled by NAVOCS enlisted, figuring some dumbass OCUI would try it.) I have seen nothing online since to support the notion that one can do this. Again, I’m thankful I never had to resort to it.

USS Buttercup
The Buttercup is described in Seachest as “a full size replica of a ship’s compartment, afloat in a huge tank.” Buttercup could be flooded, through holes simulating battle damage. “Students are required to enter the dark, cluttered interior up to their hips in water, and patch holes, shore up the damaged bulkheads, and pump it all out before the BUTTERCUP takes on the seven-degree list indicating ‘lost at sea,'” according to Seachest.

I remember being part of a crew — yes, up to our hips in water — trying to push a mattress(?) against the water flowing through the bulkhead. I believe we were successful . . . and I know we were drenched.

Shots
One of our perhaps least favorite evolutions was inoculation. Shots. Periodically, we would go en masse to a location where Navy corpsmen, armed with “jet injectors,” would immunize us against a wide variety of diseases. Yellow fever, rubella, mumps, flu, etc. I remember feeling a bit disquieted when I saw that I was being inoculated against plague. Where would the Navy send me that I would need protection against plague?!

The jet injectors, which were kind of new and “advanced” at the time, sent vaccine through the skin using high-pressure air instead of the more traditional hypodermic needle. On at least a couple of occasions, I believe, we received inoculations in each arm at the same time.

I’m not sure the jet injectors were that effective. NAVOCS was, I believe, the only place and time, even with another 16+ years in the Naval Reserve, that I ever received shots through that type of instrument. Cockrill remembers coming down with the “Asian flu” around Christmas. I remember having some low-grade “crud” that I expect was a reaction to one or more of the many shots we got.

Cold and wind
Most of our time at NAVOCS was when Newport was cold. December and January, bookended by November and February. The exposed location of NAVOCS on Narragansett Bay lent itself open to wind. That combination made for some very uncomfortable times.

 

 

Such times were exacerbated by the requirement to stand in formation before entering the chow hall, for example. Our marching drills on the grinder had a certain edge when wind was high and temperature was low.

YPs

NAVOCS had a “fleet” of eight Yard Patrol Craft (YP), or “Yippies.” I remember that we went “out to sea” (in Narragansett Bay, never far from land) at least once on them. As a prospective Special Duty Officer who was not eligible to stand Office of the Deck Underway watches, I may have been somewhat behind the scenes, or was a lookout.

Obstacle course
The “O Course” at NAVOCS was pretty traditional, as I recall. I doubt I was proficient at it, especially early, but I don’t remember being stymied by any particular part of it. I’m not saying I liked it, but I don’t recall it as a real nemesis. We also probably had limited access to it, because winter made conditions very different from those in photo at right.

I do remember exchanging letters with friends who were undergoing Army basic training, as enlisted men, at about the same time. I would point out how we had workout gear, e.g., sweats, sneakers, etc., and that, if the conditions were too adverse (below freezing?), we would have bus transportation or have workouts canceled. They responded, somewhat haughtily, I thought, that they worked out in all conditions, in fatigues and wearing combat boots. I had to point out the distinction — they were not officers and gentlemen.

Sorry for the inarticulate title, but this post deals with some of our activities, etc., that didn’t seem to fit into other categories.

Pass in review!

Each Saturday morning, we showed off(?) our precision marching skills and adept handling of a weapon. Maybe by the end we were more precise and adept, but not so much in our early efforts.

First, of course, came the uniform. White leggings for all, sword belts and swords for regimental officers, and white belts for the rest of us. If you weren’t carrying a sword or guidon, you carried a “vintage” rifle. The M1 Garand had been the standard service weapon for US forces in WWII and the Korean War.

The M1 was 43.5 inches long and weighed approximately 10 pounds. Those of us carrying the rifle were, while marching and in unison, to move it from shoulder to shoulder on command. That wasn’t that difficult. Harder was, when standing still, to hold it in the inspection arms position (extended slightly in front of you, with the butt down to your right and the barrel up to your left), slide the bolt back, and then release the bolt by pushing down on a part inside with your thumb. You had to make sure you made contact with the part and then get your thumb out before the bolt slid forward and caught your thumb. Don’t get “Garand thumb”!

The thumb action was particularly tricky because of the white gloves we had to wear. The glove surface was slippery handling the rifle and when you tried to release the bolt. The work-around was to wet your gloves beforehand, giving them more traction. Not a problem in October, early November. Standing outside the gym prior to entering in late November and into the winter with wet gloves on your hands was not pleasant. (Did we also wear peacoats, shucking them off just before entering the gym?)

Swords
At some point, we had been instructed to order a sword. I don’t believe I ever used mine at NAVOCS, but Don Cockrill did as company commander and Harvey Katz as assistant regimental commander. (I did wear mine at a few ceremonies on active duty. I also remember that a few years after active duty, alone at home and hearing a noise downstairs, I brandished it against a possible intruder. Nobody there.)

Cockrill’s sword was definitely memorable to the members of A6906, the class that entered when Don was company commander. In their Seachest, among their snippets of memory was this:

Now, Don’s sword was particularly notable. Remember, we had to get a sword with the appropriate length, the length that would result in the tip of the sword being at the middle of our ear when we held it in the carry position (right). Don, being 6’6″, had a long sword. I, being a foot shorter than Don, had a sword that, to me, brought to mind the “sword” one might find in a club sandwich.

Still have my sword. It shows its 50 years. At least the gold braid does . . . salty! The blade has been kept pristine, with no runnings-through to its credit.

Abandon ship!
Not the words you want to hear. But good to know what to do, just in case.

For us, the learning exercise involved jumping off an elevated platform into the NAVOCS pool and treading water for some extended period of time.

Nearly all of us in A6903,  I would guess, had never dove or jumped from a location so high above the water. Looking at the photo, the platform doesn’t look terribly high. Maybe 15-18 feet? Lenny Borg remembers it as 10 meters.

“While addressing the physical challenges of OCS, our trip to the swimming pool should be mentioned. If on a sinking ship, we needed to be able to jump off before it became too late. To prove that we could, we had to jump from a 10-meter tower. As most of us probably would not have not have chosen to do that as a lark, there was considerable discussion about the upcoming jump on the day before it was required. We even speculated about whether everyone would be able to do it; however, in the end, all of us managed to leap from the tower.”

It sure looked like a long way down. You were looking not so much at the space between you and the surface of the water, but the space between you — your eyes another five-six feet above the platform — and the bottom of the pool — another six feet — for a total of maybe 20-30 feet.

I remember being somewhat reassured, though, by the efficacy of the method we were taught to stay afloat. Removing one’s pants, tying off the ends of the pants legs, and then filling it with air by bringing the pants from behind your head and over it, created a somewhat viable device. Same could be done with your shirt. That was under perfect conditions. I’m glad I never had to do it in real life.

This was part of an overall swimming test. It was the Navy. Duh. All Navy personnel have to pass what is now described as a “third-class” swimming test. The evolution described above — jumping from a high platform, using clothing as a flotation device — is part of it. We also had to swim 50 yards using any stroke or combination of strokes and float prone for five minutes.

More “stuff” to come.

There is the high-level concept of “duty” such as expressed in the phrase Duty, Honor, Country by General Douglas MacArthur at West Point. And then there was the mundane “duty” reflected in the appointed periods of time one performed it at NAVOCS.

There was duty on the “quarterdeck,” mess hall, parking lot, and more. Some of it taught us Navy ways, some might have considered it “cheap labor.” Not much of it was onerous, though standing outside at the parking lot in winter winds might not have been always pleasant.

Quarterdeck
Some could consider this duty as similar to that of a clerk at a hotel. This duty took place in the lobby, for us anyway, of Nimitz Hall. It was likely for four hours as were most Navy watches, but I believe it would have been only in the late afternoon and evening and maybe weekends, because we had class and other activities.

I stood such duty at least once and remember feeling nervous about what to do when an officer came in. There was so much protocol to follow and anything incorrect would be pointed out. Of course, that’s how one learned. One officer candidate was OOD (Officer of the Deck), another AOOD (Assistant Officer of the Deck), and there was a Yeoman.

Most often, I recall, our task was to connect visitors with the office or person they requested. (Did we also check identification?) I’m sure it all helped a little for later, when we stood many in-port Officer of the Deck watches. It was not really preparation for duties as OOD underway.

There was also paperwork — the log. And I believe we made announcements over the NAVOCS version of the “1MC (main circuit).”

Mess Hall
I vaguely remember doing at least one duty shift in the mess hall, back in the food preparation area. Did Officer Candidates also have duty bussing tables?

Parking Lot
If I did stand a watch at the parking lot, I may have suppressed the memory of that. Anyone remember that duty?

CHORES
In addition to “having the duty,” we also did chores . . . lots of chores. We had our own uniforms and rooms to maintain, but we also took care of communal areas, e.g., heads, passageways, etc. Some of these were daily and some periodic.

Some, such as snow removal, were as needed. “Call out the shoveling detail!”

 

A shipmate of mine on USS Biddle (DLG-34) had been a member of C6906 at NAVOCS. The cohort 6906 had been the class that started OCS on January 4, the day after 6902 had graduated and 6903 became “seniors.” He recently sent me a copy of the 6906 Seachest, which was more advanced as a yearbook than our edition. Besides more photos from their time in Newport, that edition was bigger. It had to be, because 6906 was bigger.

Each of the company cohorts of that class, e.g., A6906, B6906, C6906 . . . started out with 21-26 members, compared to the 14-15 of 6903. And 6906 was also more diverse. Maybe not “looking like America,” but the cohort had five African-Americans and at least two Asians.

They also started off the section of Seachest containing photos from all the companies with a set of terms and phrases culled from their experiences. Those experiences were essentially the same as ours, so I share them with you below. I bet quite a few of them will be familiar and will light up a neuron or two.

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FORWARD MARCH!
Form up. Clothing issue. Working blues. Boonies. Boonie powder. Haircuts. Covers. Smiles. Reefers. Two-blocked. Inspections. Tucks. Loose material. Low quarters. PT. Square your corners. Shots. Eagles flying. Lockers. Small store. Steamers. Parallel rulers. OO-ahs. Gear adrift. Dust. Pelican hook. Pop quiz. Super jock. Masking tape. MOD. Column by files. 7-Bravo. Maneuvering board. Barber shop. Wind. Swimming tower. Jump! Snatch block. I and C interviews. RYBWG. Cotton balls. OTUs. Fitting. Squared away. OOD yeoman. Laundry trucks. First liberty. Viking. Section leader. On the gouge.

DOUBLE TIME!
New class. Cum in. Liberty. EMI. Platoons. Cold. Sleet. Mess director. Captain’s inspection.  EI. Building 302. “Now hear this: Now. Now.” Brasso. Inflate. Float. Azimuth. Kool-aid. P-works. Hurley’s. Linen detail. Cliquot Club. Choir. Five laps. Wax. Code of Conduct. Reef. Current triangle. OCS Regulations. Duty company. Gyro error. True bearing. Pelorus. SLOD. Wardroom etiquette. Lubbers line. Cherry pickers. On the tree. Roll back. Ship’s tours. Late lights. Charlie formation. Dempster dinosaur. Running fix. JFK’s. Band. Sine curve. “Roger.”

RIGHT FACE!

Peel tape. Upperclassmen. PIR. Linseed oil. Chow. Muster. White nametags. Engineering. Officers Club. Gedunk. Parking lot watch. Buffer. White ball. Duty day. Colors. Gigs. Gross lint. Choice Charlie. “T-too, t-too.” Pork Chop. Shoring. “You have the conn.” Snow detail. Suction pump. Dream sheet. Buttercup. Cross gouge. Winter. Spiffy. 2.5 and survive. Snow Condition I. Corfams. Darts. Baby Batt Boards. Expedite. Preliminary orders. Seabee. Building 1801. CNO. Bupers Manual. 4.0. Admiral’s barge. Cotton balls. YP sentry. Friday athletics.

ABOUT FACE!
Company Commander. SWO. Loran. Bad gouge. Color girl. Regimental Ball. Batt staff. Cut out. Orders. DCA. Snipe. Comm School. Cooperate and graduate. Reg Comm. Settle accounts. Squad leader. Evolution. “Very well.” Bridge. OCOOD. Mile run. Yippies. BZ trainer. Baggage locker. UCMJ. Secured. Mail call. Payday? Alfa Avenue. Gross IPs. Say again. Tug team. Lunchshots. DR track. Attention to detail. Confidentials. Burpees. Over. Guidon. Reveille. O course. Quarterly exams. Word. Deck. Grinder. “Mill about smartly.” NWP-50-A. Chin straps. Charts. Graduation. ENSIGN!

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There were 384 ensigns commissioned in 6906, compared to 221 in 6903.

After a few weeks at OCS, we had begun to meet with “detailers” from BUPERS (Bureau of Personnel) whose role was to make the assignments we would undertake as ensigns. Some of those in A6903 already had a general idea, because of their “designators.”

The designators’ four-digit codes identified the Navy “community” in which an officer belonged, e.g., supply, aviation, etc. The single designator relevant to us that included the largest number of officers was 1105 — unrestricted line officer (Naval Reserve). While “unrestricted” implies something of a wide range, officers with this designator were more commonly “ship drivers.” Initial tours of duty were aboard ship where they could be assigned to any number of departments, but they also stood duty as Officer-of-the-Deck (OOD) Underway.

At least a few members of A6903 — Cosgrove, Jones, Webber — were assigned to the Civil Engineer Corps (CEC).

I had a designator no OCS detailer had seen before. I learned some time after OCS that I and two other members of 6903 were the first officer candidates to enter OCS with the designator 1635 — Special Duty Officer (Intelligence). Prior to us, one first had to be a line officer before changing a designator to Intelligence. (This was also a time when there was a bifurcation — air and surface — in Intelligence. We were surface. The air intel types trained in Pensacola, along with Naval Aviators.)

So, when I showed up for my detailer appointment, the meeting was short. Essentially, he told me, “I have no idea what you’ll be doing. But I know it’ll be a desk job. Washington, Pearl Harbor, maybe Japan.” Well, if it meant anything, I told him, I would prefer those in reverse order.

“Knowing” I would be going to a desk job, I began to make remarks to my soon-to-be ship-driver colleagues when Victory at Sea showed destroyers being tossed about by violent seas. Smugness reigned in me.

My request regarding shore duty had been irrelevant. About halfway through OCS, I received a letter from my detailer, a Commander Demaris. After welcoming me “aboard” the Naval Intelligence community, he said I would be ordered upon commissioning to the Fleet Operational Intelligence Training Center in Norfolk, Va., for six weeks of intelligence schooling. After that, three weeks of “intensive” Combat Information Center training at the Fleet Training Center, Norfolk, and then “assignment aboard a ship for approximately 18 months.”

A ship? A ship? I wasn’t familiar with whiskey-tango-foxtrot in those terms then, but the unexpurgated version was pretty much my initial reaction. CDR Demaris also said that, after sea duty, I could expect assignment in Washington or to a major staff.

Well, maybe he meant an aircraft carrier. Those don’t get pushed around as much at sea as a destroyer or LST (Landing Ship, Tank). (As I soon learned and you will soon learn, I was not ordered to a carrier.)

Bob Hamilton was 1105. “I remember meeting with BUPERS and filling out a ‘dream sheet.’ You could pick three choices for location and three choices for type of duty.”

Don Cockrill, also 1105, remembers the “dream sheet” and the caveat that “the needs of the Navy were always the top priority. “How true,” he said. “I requested shore duty on the East Coast, which, of course, resulted in my assignment to a ship on the West Coast.”

Lenny Borg was 1105, as was Dennis Greenspon.

 

 

Friday night at NAVOCS was for athletics. Don Cockrill remembers scenes like the one above. “I played something called ‘pushball,'” he said. “About eight guys on a team, with a huge inflated ball six-eight feet in circumference. Lots of bloody noses.”

There were less dangerous events, too. Among those we recall were mile run, basketball, tandem relays (in which you had to carry someone on your back), rope climbing, water polo, and tug-of-war.

Lenny Borg, who had some pretty good guns for upper arms, as I recall, was our ringer in the rope climb. “Each week, I had only the scantest of leads when reaching the top of the rope,” he recalled, “but somehow I could descend twice as fast as anybody else. Lucky I didn’t lose my grip and break my tailbone.”

Bob Hamilton said he “found the one event that required little effort.” He participated in pistol shooting. “We used a Colt 1911 with an ace conversion to .22. I would see others doing tug-of-war or running and was thankful for my event.” (Bob reported he later represented the Navy in an international shooting competition. We hope to learn more about that.)

(Speaking of handguns . . . I recall handling a firearm once during my entire time on active duty and it was at OCS. [I’m not talking about the neutered M-1’s we hoisted for pass-in-review. 🙂 We’ll talk about those later.]  During one class, a pistol, I expect a 1911 .45, was passed around. And I think that was it. Later, in the reserves, when I served in NCIS units, I had to qualify in both handgun and rifle [M-16], as well as shotgun.)

My event was the mile run, at least until the last quarter of our time at OCS. Bill Peeters and I ran as a pair, pretty much. We chatted, which tells you we were not exerting ourselves. I think we finished tied for last each time. I’m not so proud of that, but I remember the Alfa culture at the time, especially when we were in our third quarter, being not interested in athletic success. At the end of the evening, we would hear the results and I remember joining in on the laughter when we found out Alfa had finished last or near last. Not proud of that, either.

When A6903 became the senior cohort of the company, we also received a new group of Alfas, A6906. Among the newbies was a ringer of sorts, some recall.

As Lenny reports: “Each week, Bob Hamilton had been scoring  wins in pistol shooting and I had won the rope climb, but it wasn’t until an athletic new class was added that our overall performance in sports improved dramatically. Part of the reason was the addition of a ringer, a hulking Olympic volleyball player, from California, I believe. Unfortunately, he was only allowed to compete in one event. Each week, he insisted on competing in a different event. In several of the events, it was staggering how dominant he was. His performance helped inspire the rest of us to greater efforts.”

The California hulk wasn’t the only change. 🙂 I had switched from the mile run to the tandem relay. There were other Alfas about my size so two of us smaller guys were a pair in the relays.

I remember still another factor better, actually, in terms of our athletic turnaround. Don Cockrill had become company commander and he fostered a new attitude, a new culture in Alfa. I remember him encouraging us to do better. When I looked back later at those several weeks and the changes in our performances, individually and overall, I thought of it as one of the best examples of leadership I’d seen. It demonstrated, to me at least, that one could change a culture/mindset through example and exhortation.

 

Remember the difference between “liberty” and “leave”? Liberty was authorized absence, for relatively short periods of time, whereas leave was for a longer period of time and was charged against your annual allocation. I expect we were granted liberty at OCS and not leave, even for the extended Christmas break.

Our usual liberty was maybe 30 hours, extending from our release around midday Saturdays until 1800 Sundays (it might have been a bit longer for “white-name-taggers,” who also had a weekday night).

On the first liberty we had, which was probably on the order of two weeks after we arrived (maybe longer), I wasn’t that surprised that the battery in my 1965 Sunbeam Tiger, which had sat in an outdoor parking area since arriving, was dead. I was probably surprised that the same thing happened a week later and, I believe, each Saturday I sought to leave OCS. By the second or third weekend liberty, the local AAA service station already knew I would be calling for a start and where the car was.

Finally on the road, I often drove up to Providence, R.I., where a BC classmate and friend lived while attending grad school at Brown. I think most often I simply crashed there for a brief nap, so I could then head up to Boston.

I think most of my attention during those brief hours in the civilian world was aimed at food and drink, and probably mostly the latter. I “recall” being at the Tam O’Shanter Room in Brookline, Mass., the Boston College hangout and where I had had my first legal drink the year before, on a liberty Saturday night. I was wearing my uniform. We were supposed to. 🙂 As I left the bar that night, likely assisted by my companions, either I or the crowd at the bar began chanting, “Remember the Pueblo! Remember the Pueblo!” and I saluted them all by waving my cover.

Liberty also gave us a chance to spend some of that money burning a hole in our pockets. Heck, our lodgings, clothing, and food were free. What else were we going to do with that $226.20 we were paid each month as Officer Candidates? (I remember Harvey Katz looking at his first check in the Navy and exclaiming that the total was less than the deductions taken from his pay as a civilian.)

Memories from some other A6903ers

Lenny Borg: Besides a great Thanksgiving weekend, the only other liberty I can recall was a trip to a ski resort in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. It required such a long drive that, exhausted as we were at the end of a week, it began to seem that our destination was a bridge too far. It was soon so dark that none of the terrain was visible except for the shadowy silhouettes of mountains that finally began appearing on either side of the road. Nevertheless, it all seemed worthwhile when, on the next morning, I parted the curtains and gasped with wonder at the picturesque scene of skiers barreling down the mountain right at me. For a Georgia Cracker who had never set foot on skis, that sight was dazzling.

Bob Hamilton: I was with you on the ski trip, Lenny. It was beautiful. I remember that we had to wear our OCS uniforms and, when we were on the elevator at the hotel, someone got on and thought I was the elevator boy. They told me the floor they wanted and I responded.

Dennis Greenspon: I remember being picked up in one of those local Newport bars by a girl going to school in Newport. I thought I was really cool and feeling quite “studly” and full of myself. Until the night I told her that I was taking my old college girlfriend to our graduation ball. She got up from the table, told me that the only reason she went out with me was so she could go to the ball. Apparently that was something the local girls wanted to do very badly.  They all knew we were there for only about four months, and they would never see us again.

Don Cockrill: One popular routine was to head for the main “O Club” (which was quite nice) for a world-class buffet, drink too much, go back to the dorm to sleep it off, arise, go into town, and repeat the entire process. The one popular watering hole I recall was “The Tavern” in downtown Newport. There was a nice hotel in town (name not recalled) where dances were held on Saturday night and the local working girls as well as the Salve Regina coeds would congregate to meet the OCS cadets of their dreams. A UVa law classmate of mine, who was a month ahead, actually met his future wife at one of those mixers.

Here’s a picture from the 1969 Salve Regina yearbook. Recognize anybody?

The Salve Regina school newspaper in 1969 mentioned The Tavern, The Surf Lounge, Viking Hotel, Sully’s Publick House, Surf Hotel, and Hurley’s Lounge. Expect each of these establishments saw some Officer Candidates on the weekends.