Category: WESTPAC Deployment

Our first several days on the line in early July 1969 were busy. Operationally, the “routine” was not yet routine to most of us, those who had not deployed to the Gulf before. There were many new things to learn and the sense of responsibility about what we were doing made it seem all the more important to learn them quickly and accurately.

A significant dose of reality for me, and I bet for several radarmen, came on 2 July when we saw our first MiGs . . . on radar. MiGs were the then-Soviet jet aircraft flown by the North Vietnamese. The variant flown at that time was, I believe, the MiG-17. “[Seeing MiGs on radar] was actually fairly exciting,” I noted, with perhaps a bit more nonchalance than was real, in my journal. “They came down from Hanoi (Bullseye), then turned back.” They reappeared in the same fashion on 4 July, maybe to note the holiday.

I was especially busy, getting the Intel shop going. I was staying up until 0230 or 0300 most nights, preparing information for the day ahead. Occasionally, I also had to brief the Commodore (Commander Destroyer Squadron Seven) onboard and his staff at 0600.

Crossing the Pacific, we had replenished supplies in Panama, Hawaii, Guam, and Subic Bay, with supplies being loaded on board while in port. On line, we conducted “underway replenishment” (UNREP) and “vertical replenishment” (VERTREP) for the first time. Indeed, on 5 July, we did both UNREP and VERTREP in the morning, as well as conducted an “ASCM” exercise (I’m guessing that stands for “anti-submarine countermeasures,” but I hope someone can help me out with that acronym).

UNREP particularly was a complicated series of operations. The supply ship would be on a particular course and speed. Biddle would have to approach from the stern of the supply ship, coming up alongside at the proper distance and maintaining the same speed. (That evolution was one reason I was happy to stick to occasional man overboard drills to drive the ship.) I would have expected the supply ship to fire one or more “shot lines” across to Biddle, which would allow a messenger line and then transfer rig lines to attach file hoses, etc. Our cruise book, however, shows one of Biddle‘s crew firing a shot line. (Again, assistance from someone more involved in the evolution is most welcome.)

Sometimes UNREP was how we would receive mail, movies, etc. VERTREP, which involved helicopters approaching Biddle‘s stern, hovering over the helo deck, and then lowering supply containers was another efficient way to deliver some cargo. Sometimes both operations took place simultaneously. The danger of two ships operating so closely and the complexity of the operation overall made for an “exciting” morning. Connecting had its own level of excitement and complexity, but disconnecting was “extra special.” All in all, I think UNREP was most appreciated after it had concluded without incident. 

Here is a gallery of Biddle cruise book photos showing UNREP and VERTREP.

Biddle relieved the Chicago on 1 July 1969 and LT Libbey and I got to go home. To the Biddle, that is.

We transferred from the Chicago around 1700, maybe by boat. Here’s film, shot from the Biddle by either GMG2 George Boyles or GMG2 Jerome Kuczmarski, of the Chicago awaiting her relief that night.

Biddle was now PIRAZ (Positive Identification Radar Advisory Zone).  In that role, its radio call sign was “Red Crown.” We were accompanied by a  “shotgun” destroyer whose main role was to protect Red Crown from North Vietnamese torpedo boat attack. At least on this first stint, Biddle‘s shotgun was USS Meredith (DD-890).

Biddle‘s station was offshore from Vinh, North Vietnam. The ship would usually steam on an east-west line, back and forth. Not the most exciting route for bridge watch standers. To the east of Biddle in this position was the Chinese island of Hainan.

Being on the line, for me, meant going to work. First night back on Biddle, I noted in my journal that I had stayed up until 0230 working on intelligence matters. 

I actually went to “new” quarters when I returned onboard Biddle. We had picked up a staff and contingent of “snoops” in Subic and/or Danang and that made for slightly crowded conditions. Ensigns Curran, Roberts, and I were now berthed in what was termed “CPO [Chief Petty Officer] overflow.”

Our “stateroom” had four racks rigged in a stack along the bulkhead. Not a lot of room among them. No one could “sit up” in bed. I remember having the lowest rack, which was only several inches off the deck. Rolling out of bed was pretty much the only way to exit.

 

While LT Libbey and I were “working hard” in late June 1969 preparing for the transfer of responsibilities from USS Chicago to Biddle, the rest of the crew was having . . . fun!

Naval Base Subic Bay was adjacent to the city of Olongapo, a legend among Navy ports of call. Shipmate James Treadway, lead author of Hard Charger: The Story of USS Biddle (DLG-34), described Olongapo this way:

“Subic’s on-base facilities for R and R were minimal, making Olongapo the only place a sailor or marine could go to have a drink and some fun. There weren’t many rules in Olongapo — you could get just about anything you wanted, or did not want — including dead.  . . .  The drinking was heavy, the music was loud, women were available, and fights were common. At least that is what I’ve been told.”

According to CAPT Olsen, writing in Biddlegram #2, “Enroute to the Philippine Islands, we steamed 11,490 miles in 29 days with only two days in port!”

“From Guam to the Philippines,” he wrote, “we crossed the Philippine Sea and transited San Bernardino Strait, scenes of two of our Navy’s great victories over the Imperial Japanese Navy in World War II. Today these waters are placid, blue and unmarred by the history they’ve seen. Our port of call in the Philippines was Subic Bay, a snug harbor, protected by rising hills against the wind and sea, and site of a large U.S. Navy Base, which our friends, the Filipinos, permit us to use.”

After a few days at Subic Bay, Biddle transited to Danang, the Navy’s principal port in the Republic of Vietnam, for replenishments and some SAR (search and rescue) training.

Below are some video clips (1:39) from the films shot by George Boyles and Jerome Kuczmarski, both GMG2s, around the time of these events. They show Biddle steaming, US warplanes, a PBR (Patrol Boat, River), and Biddle‘s two boats. The audio was added by George Boyles.

 

That lumbering cruiser. Not fair to say “lumbering,” but USS Chicago (CG-11) was big. More than 125 feet longer than Biddle, Chicago displaced 13,600 tons, compared to Biddle‘s 7,930, and the crew numbered more than 1,100. It was the active presence of cruisers like Chicago that prevented Biddle and comparable ships to be called cruisers . . . yet.

LT Libbey and I flew by helicopter from USS Kearsarge (CV-33) to the Chicago in the early afternoon of 25 June 1969. First time in a helo. (Not my last.) According to my journal, I “didn’t mind it that much.” “That much” is telling.

I remember, and my journal confirms, that I was “impressed” with where we were on station. “Didn’t realize we would be that close to North Vietnam,” I wrote in my journal. “You can see it very easily.”

Didn’t have a single room this time. Bunked with an Ensign and JG. The days on the Chicago, awaiting Biddle‘s arrival, were pretty tame. Received intel briefings and observed. On 28 June, I wrote in my journal, “Actually getting homesick for BIDDLE.” As usual, didn’t miss a movie.

We weren’t scheduled to get back on Biddle until 1 July.

Biddle arrived in Subic Bay 24 June 1969. Several days liberty ahead in one of the most infamous liberty ports in Southeast Asia! But not for me. 🙁

I had learned a few days earlier that upon arrival in Subic LT Libbey and I were to depart only a few hours later for the Gulf of Tonkin. We were the advance party to prepare for Biddle‘s relief of USS Chicago (CG-11). 

(Cue the whining. After leaving Hawaii on 12 June, I spent a few hours in Guam and then a few hours in Subic. The next time I would be in port would be 3 August. That calculates to 52 days spent all but several hours at sea.)

We tied up in Subic next to the USS King (DL-10) and to what remained of the USS Frank Evans (DD-754). These ships were poignant reminders of the danger of being at sea, even outside combat. On 23 May, four crew members on the King had been killed in an engine fire that also injured 15 crew members. This picture of the Evans shows the extent of the damage that occurred on 2 June when the ship was cut in two by HMAS Melbourne, an Australian aircraft carrier. Seventy-four crew members, including three brothers from Nebraska, were killed.

At 1230, LT Libbey and I went to Naval Air Station, Cubi Point. At 1445, our C-2 took off on its way to the Gulf, to USS Kearsarge (CV-33) on Yankee Station. I remember the takeoff taking a long time (the plane carrying a lot of supplies as well as some passengers), increasing my concern about the large hill at the end of the runway. I think we banked rather sharply once in the air.

I was not then a “happy” flier. I had not flown much by age 22, but had already had a couple of iffy flights. And I had never flown in such a small plane. Nor had I ever landed on an aircraft carrier. My anxiety level was rather high. As we neared the end of the three-hour flight, I noticed that a member of the aircrew, maybe younger than me, was “lounging,” relaxed at the back of the plane (the passenger seats faced backward), and looking at me.  I believe he sensed my anxiety, and played it a little. He told me that on the last flight to the carrier the pilot had missed the arresting cables and had had to go around. He played me right. Gulp.

Approaching Kearsarge, the plane moved up and down, and the wings tilted each way. As the plane reached the carrier, the pilot pushed the throttles forward to increase speed so he could take off if he missed the cables. Engines roared.  . . . He missed.

As we banked left to try again, I looked back at the crewman, with a look of alarm, I’m sure. He smiled as he said, “Told ya.”

Second time the charm. The plane approached again, accelerated, hit the deck, caught the arresting cable. We were pushed back into our seats, then the plane turned on deck, the rear gate of the aircraft lowered, and we walked out on deck. There was a lot of noise and wind as we were guided to a door and moved off the deck.

I spent the night on the Kearsarge, in the stateroom of its Dental Officer, a Commander, who was apparently TAD or on leave. Cool. Single occupancy Commander’s stateroom. Upgrade! . . . That night I realized being close to the catapult on a carrier is not an upgrade.

Next morning, I took this picture of a helo on the deck of the Kearsarge. Don’t know if it was the one in which LT Libbey and I were to fly to the Gulf. Just a nice scene.

 

Biddle pulled into Guam on 20 June 1969. Maybe it looked like the photo above, another Pacific paradise. I don’t remember it that way. The photo is not of the naval base, so that could have something to do with it.

According to CAPT Olsen, writing in Biddlegram #2, “In our 3,300 mile voyage between Oahu and Guam, we encountered only a half-dozen ships. This is not a commercially profitable route and very few merchant ships make the run. In spite of the width and breadth of the oceans, it is a fact that those paths that ships use are relatively narrow and heavily traveled. The route between Hawaii and Guam is not one of those.”

We were in Guam less than a day. It was a stop for supplies, etc. (Perhaps it should have served as a signal for our Guam experiences, as the same thing happened heading east months later. But we thought our route would be elsewhere.)

My journal noted that I went to the Exchange and had one beer at the bowling alley. We left Guam at 1800.

We had been given permission to grow mustaches and beards, which were not normally permitted at the time. They couldn’t be any mustaches and beards, however.  We would be inspected and those found wanting would be ordered to shave.

My journal entry for 16 June did not portend well for my hirsuteness. “Hair on face has been growing for 2 1/2 weeks now. It’s beginning to become noticeable. Actually, the hair that’s there is fairly long, it’s just that seven of them aren’t enough.” There will be a status report on beards later.

I began working more on Intel stuff. I learned that the Intel team would be based in UB Plot, where the sonar technicians worked and, as my journal noted, “is cold,” even for CIC. Nearly all the enlisted guys working with me would be sonar technicians. The Gulf of Tonkin, our ultimate destination, is relatively shallow, which severely limited any submarine threat. That, and the North Vietnamese had no navy really beyond torpedo boats. Sonarmen were available for Intel duty.

 

On 14 June 1969, Biddle crossed the International Date Line — an “adventure” bigger for some of us than for others on board.

The International Date Line (IDL) is basically the meridian of 180 degrees latitude — halfway around the world from 0 degrees latitude, or the meridian in Greenwich, England. That puts it in what amounts to the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Crew members who had previously had this rite of passage on one or more deployments wanted those who had not to “enjoy” the event by becoming the first of the crew to see the actual International Date Line. Lookouts were posted on the fo’c’sle. Junior officers were brought to the bridge and given binoculars to seek out the buoys marking the IDL. Buoys? Absolutely. You could see them on our radar scopes.

I admit the IDL veterans did a pretty good job. I was skeptical, but . . . lookouts? . . . buoys on the radar? I was beginning to take the hook. Then, as I joined other JOs in CIC to observe the approaching buoys on radar, I glanced to the lower left and saw that the “mode” dial on the NTDS console was on “test.” I had been shown how that mode could be used to create exercises, placing “targets” on the scope. 

Aha! I recognized the buoys were part of a trick. I became a traitor to my fellow JOs and supported the continuation of the ruse. In the picture at the top of the post, LT Morris is pointing the direction of one of the IDL buoys to ENS Curran, who had originally been quite skeptical, too. I am at right, urging Steve to look harder.

The ruse all soon fell apart, but it made for a bit more lively evening than normal. We crossed the International Date Line at approximately 1950. Technically, we had moved from Saturday 14 June to Monday 16 June. June 15 never existed on our cruise. While the next day was a “work day,” the Captain let us have a “Sunday” and holiday routine.

Crossing the IDL has little of the tradition and scale of crossing the Equator, which calls for major day-long ceremony. We expected to “enjoy” that experience on our way home. There is a fantasy “Domain of the Golden Dragon,” which pertains only to those traveling west across the date line.

We had no formal recognition of our “achievement” crossing the IDL. Years after this cruise, I saw that the U.S. Naval Institute offered “certificates” for doing so, as well as other notable moments. I bought one, but then realized I would not be able to have the CO sign it, or have the ship’s seal applied, etc. It’s still ornamental and is a reminder of the event. Here’s a picture of it and below is a presentation of the text.

To all Sailors wherever ye may be: and to all sea serpents, crabs, mutineers, pirates of the Yellow Seas, and other other derelicts of Far Eastern seas, Greetings:

Know ye: On June 15, 1969 within the boundaries of my Draconic Realm there appeared the USS Biddle DLG-34

Be it known: that said renowned vessel crossed the 180th meridian in latitude 20°N

And all her Officers and Crew have been duly inspected and passed upon by my Venerable Body of Judges it is therefore my privilege to proclaim, with all the authority of my Sphere of Influence that ENS William McDonald having now been found worthy, he has been gathered into my fold and duly initiated into the

Silent Occult Mysteries of the Far East

And be it further understood: that he is now a member of my August Retinue and is therefore entitled to all the Rights and Privileges accorded such personages

Disobey this order under extreme penalty of my royal displeasure

On 10 June 1969, Biddle arrived in Pearl Harbor. At 0700, according to my journal, Diamond Head was visible in a hazy sky, “but it still looks beautiful. It’s too bad we’re only going to be here a day and a half.”

Yup, 36 hours in paradise after 15+ days underway. And it was raining when we pulled in. Still, it was Hawaii. First time I had ever been there.

During the several days before, steaming from the Panama Canal, I was standing CIC watches and getting into the wonderful world of intelligence reports. My journal entry for 2 June included “Spent all afternoon changing sub reports to conform to PACFLT.” On 3 June, I noted that I spent the day preparing an intelligence brief, but also reported that Biddle had had to slow because of “gyro loss” and engine problems. Perhaps that cut into our Hawaii liberty. On 5 June, I gave a briefing (to wardroom? Ops officers?) on special tactics to use against Soviet intelligence ships.

Back in Oahu, Jack Roberts and I went to the Pearl Harbor Officers Club, then downtown. I enjoyed filet mignon at Fort DeRussy, described in my journal as “the R+R center here.” I also noted that “You see a lot of guys around there on crutches.” We later walked around downtown and still later I joined other officers in attending the Romani Hotel’s “Topless Revue.” I noted in my journal: “Two dollars a beer.” Did I mention the price because it was high?

Five of us — Jack, Steve Curran, John Berquist, Frank Fox, and I — toured the island on 11 June. We had rented a 1969 Dodge Dart for $6.50 a day and $.06 a mile. 🙂 It was a state holiday — Kamehameha Day, honoring the king who first unified the islands — so things were crowded. First stop was Hanauma Bay and then Makapu’u Beach at the easternmost point of Oahu. 

At Makapu’u, some or all of us tried body-surfing. I hope the others were more successful than me. Here’s my journal report: “. . . [T]his wave’s coming in, I wait, then start swimming down the crest. Next thing I know, my shoulder and head smash into the sandy bottom, and I’m flipped over and around, finally ending up being pulled back to the next wave by the undertow.” First time last time body-surfing.

Watched some real surfers at Sunset Beach. Then we went through Kolekole Pass, where we had an amazing view of mountains like none I had ever seen. On to the famous Makaha and Mauna Lahilahi Beach on the western shores of Oahu. Final stop before returning to the ship was Nu’unau Pali lookout, where, even at 2300 when we were there, you got a great view of the Windward Coast at night.

Hawaii photos from the cruise book

Among the supplies Biddle picked up in Pearl was $148,000 in cash, to be disbursed to the crew on payday. (No automatic deposits back then.) The ship also loaded 420 gallons of milk, 200 pounds of bread, and 50 gallons of assorted ice cream, among other things.

At 0800, 12 June, Biddle got underway for Guam.

During the overnight of 31 May and 1 June, 1969, Biddle transited the Panama Canal and entered the Pacific Ocean. I took the picture above of passage through the locks at sunset.

We had arrived at the canal early on 31 May. Biddle was anchored at the entrance by 0630. According to my journal, we were anchored adjacent to a Soviet merchant ship, named something like Siltan Stanski.

A previous post had estimated that on 30 May we were somewhere between Jamaica and Panama, which are about 1,000 miles apart. At breakfast on 31 May, according to my journal, Biddle navigator LT “Bud” Daniels had commented, “I really don’t think the Captain believed me last night when I told him I didn’t know where we were.” Apparently, I wasn’t the only one kinda guessing.

We ended up where we were supposed to be and on time . . . maybe. Based on where we were in line to go through the Canal, we were not going to start to do so until 1630, which meant no liberty ashore in Panama City. For many of the days before we arrived at the Canal, those who had done it before and had enjoyed liberty ashore shared with us newbies lurid — and I mean, disgusting — tales of what we might see. I think it is probably fortunate that, not having seen what they described, I have no memory of stuff I wish I had never seen . . . at least, not from Panama.

Biddle started its transit even a little later, at 1700. My journal entry for 2200 31 May reported that Biddle was in the middle of Gatun Lake, not even halfway through the Canal. By the time I awoke on 1 June, we were through the Canal and in the Pacific Ocean.

CAPT Olsen, in a section of BIDDLEGRAM #2, gave a much more lyrical account:

“. . . [W]e arrived at the Atlantic end of the Panama Canal on a lovely, sunlit day and anchored at Colon to await our turn to start our transit which began about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. We were lifted through the first series of locks, entered Gatun Lake just about dark and anchored because ship traffic up ahead was moving slowly. About two hours later we weighed anchor and began the first night transit of the Canal I have ever experienced. I shall always remember it. [I, on the other hand, was probably in the rack.]

“It was a windless, starry night; the temperature was just right; and the ship glided through the ghostly silence, in many areas seemingly just a dozen feet from the bank of the Canal. It was what I’d imagine the Garden of Eden would be like – without Eve, of course! As we neared the Pacific end, the channel narrowed and we found the sides of the Canal brightly-lighted with closely-spaced, blue florescent lights, just three or four feet high, which made the water glimmer like a mirror.

“We completed the transit at 3:30 in the morning, moored at Rodman Naval Station, but stayed only long enough to fuel before departing for Hawaii. [No chance for the swimsuit detail mentioned in his earlier BIDDLEGRAM.]

“As we left the Canal Zone and steamed south into the Gulf of Panama, we came within 400 miles of the Equator. Crossing the Equator is an historic event in the lives of men who go to sea and though we didn’t cross it this time, we hope to later in our cruise.” (But that’s another story, for later.)

 

 

CAPT Olsen sent several BIDDLEGRAMS to members of the crew’s families and friends of the ship during the deployment. The first was titled “BIDDLEGRAM #1 – 29 May 1969 – At Sea.” (I apologize for being a day or two tardy in posting this. Just lost track of date.)

“This is the first of a series of Familygrams which I will address to you during our cruise to the Western Pacific, for the purpose of keeping you personally informed of what your Biddleman and his ship are doing.

“As I write to you now, we are just 36 hours from arriving at the Panama Canal to begin the transit which will take us into the Pacific Ocean.

“The Canal, completed 55 years ago, is truly an amazing engineering achievement. You may be interested to know that when we enter the Atlantic side, we will be maneuvered into three locks in sequence, each of which will be flooded after we are inside. As we depart the third lock, we will have been raised 85 feet above the level of the Atlantic Ocean and will then be at the same level as the huge man-made, fresh water lake which is the central part of the Canal. Once we are at this level, we can steam at speeds of up to 18 knots until we reach a series of locks which we will enter in turn and be lowered to the level of the Pacific Ocean. The Canal is 44 miles long and curiously, the Pacific end is to the east of the Atlantic end!

“One of the benefits of periodically going through the Canal is that we can flush out all of our salt water piping, thereby ridding it of the sea weed and small sea life which thrive in salt water. We also will have a chance to wash down the entire ship with fresh water which we didn’t have to make with our own distilling plant! The uniform for this operation will be swimming trunks!

“By the time you receive this, we will have left Panama and be headed across the vast Pacific. You can span the gap with your letters. At the outset, with long distances between ports, it will largely be feast or famine. So, don’t lose heart, but keep writing and I can assure you that your Biddleman will be doing the same. Please note our San Francisco address and Zip Code.

“Before we sailed from Norfolk, we received several messages, two of which I would like to share with you. The first came from Congressman and Mrs. William H. Bates of Massachusetts. Mrs. Bates is our ship’s sponsor, that is, she is the lady who smashed the bottle of champagne on our ship’s bow and christened her:

“AS YOU DEPLOY AGAIN TO ADD TO THE PROUD RECORD OF BIDDLE, MAY WE WISH YOU AND YOUR HARD CHARGERS GOD SPEED, FAIR WINDS, AND FOLLOWING SEAS. MAY YOUR POWDER ALWAYS BE DRY.

“The second was from the Representative of the Commander Cruiser-Destroyer Force in Norfolk, Rear Admiral John R. Wadleigh:

“I HAVE FOLLOWED YOUR PREPARATIONS FOR YOUR SECOND DEPLOYMENT WITH INTEREST AND PRIDE. I AM SURE THAT YOUR CREW OF HARD CHARGERS WILL DO ANOTHER OUTSTANDING JOB. I WISH YOU EVERY POSSIBLE SUCCESS, SMOOTH SAILING AND A SAFE RETURN HOME. GOOD LUCK AND GOD SPEED.

“In closing, I’m attaching a fact sheet of key addresses and phone numbers, should you need assistance or desire information during our absence.

Very sincerely,

ALFRED R. OLSEN, JR.
Captain, U.S. Navy”

Among the addresses on the “fact sheet” was Biddle’s “telegraphic address,” to which telegrams would be sent:

John Doe, (RATE), (DIVISION)
USS BIDDLE (DLG-34)
Care of U.S. NAVAL COMMUNICATION STATION
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA