The Apollo 11 lunar module approaches its landing on the moon.
An audience estimated at more than 500 million people watched on live television the landing on the moon and subsequent moon walk that took place (to us) 21 July 1969 (a Monday then). Those of us on the Biddle (as well as, of course, many millions of others) did not.
The Gulf of Tonkin is in what the military calls the “Golf” time zone. It is Zulu Time (also known then in the civilian world as “Greenwich Mean Time”) +7.
Apollo 11’s lunar module landed on the moon at 2017Z 20 July, which was 4:17 pm on the US East Coast, and 0317G 21 July where we were. I remember listening to the radio broadcast, very likely from American Forces Vietnam Network. Not so sure I was listening when Neil Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface several hours later. That took place a little before 1000 our time.
We were able later to see the landing, walk, etc., when a “film” of the telecast arrived among our other movies. Not sure how much later. Soon after this date we began to run into some rough weather from Typhoon Viola, which grounded CODs for a few days and would have delayed movies for a while. Anybody remember watching on the mess deck?
On 20 July 1969 (a Sunday then), Biddle‘s crew enjoyed a cookout on the fantail. (You’ll notice that there is much discussion today about the moon landing. In our case — and for all others on our side of the International Dateline — the date of the moon landing was 21 July 1969. There will be a post on that tomorrow.)
This wasn’t the first cookout, as my journal for 20 July reads, “Had another cookout today.” It is the one from which we have pictures . . . and film/video!
Perhaps it was the first appearance of our band — the . . . anybody remember if they had a name? It wouldn’t have been “The Hard Chargers,” would it? Anyway, they performed on the helo deck, which is why you see people in line in the photo at top looking up.
My journal noted that SN McDade was the singer and FTG3 Evans played bass. Welcome any additional identifications. (I know about the bass, because Evans was playing my bass guitar. I could not play anything on that guitar, and never could. My talents, if evident in anything, were not in music. I think I got the guitar to appear to be cool in the eyes of young women. Yeah, right.)
Below is a photo of me “enjoying” (maybe “examining”) some kind of sandwich, next to whom I believe is QM3 Harrell. I think this might have been an earlier cookout, because I don’t think I would have been wearing that cover if the ship’s ball caps had been available. (This photo shows that, of course, all I needed then to look cool was a bass guitar.)
Here’s video of the 20 July 1969 cookout from the film shot by GMG2 George Boyles or GMG2 Jerome Kuczmarski.
The Biddle spent most of its 1969 WESTPAC deployment during peak typhoon season, and the first instance of what that meant took place 10-12 July 1969.
Tropical Storm Tess was approaching the Gulf of Tonkin on 10 July and Biddle was heading south . . . quickly. We had been told to expect winds of 60 knots. Then we had an update: Tess was now a Typhoon and winds of 70 knots were projected.
My journal entry for 10 July included: “1800 — it’s now raining and windy. Whitecaps appearing.”
Below is a quartet of photos demonstrating Biddle‘s roll, perhaps during this transit south. Rolling, of course, was a common occurrence, though not commonly to the extent shown in the album. Photos were taken at midship and athwartship.
On 11 July, we had evaded the typhoon and were heading, more slowly this time, back into the Gulf. By 12 July, things were back to normal.
On 9 July, I reported in my journal that I “did beautiful on mail today. Got 7 letters, a postcard, the [Boston] Globe.” I also noted that we had conducted UNREP at 2330 that night and that “Captain suggested today I get a haircut.” Oh yeah . . . military.
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.
USS Mispillion (AO-105) and our shotgun, USS Renshaw (DD-499)
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).
Again, the Renshaw conducting UNREP.Biddle firing shot line. Cruise book photo
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.
On 3 July, Brian Jones, founding member of the Rolling Stones, was found dead in the swimming pool of his Hartfield, England, estate. He had left the band a month before to pursue a solo career. His death was the first of that of several rock stars — Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison — in the next couple of years, all at the age of 27. It gave rise to the notion of a “27 Club,” the concept that rock stars were more likely to die at that age.
A sudden, intense storm on Independence Day killed 42 people in Ohio and Michigan. Many were outside celebrating July 4. A tornado swept through Lakewood, Ohio, a suburb of Cleveland, and killed several people.
French joined English as the official languages of Canada on 7 July.
The first of 25,000 American troops to be withdrawn from Vietnam arrived at McCord Air Force Base, Washington, on 8 July.
In anticipation of the launch of Apollo 11, David Bowie’s song, Space Oddity, was released on 11 July. The song refers to a fictional astronaut, “Major Tom.”
Apollo 11 — with astronauts Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins on board — launched from Cape Kennedy on 16 July at 9:32 am local time. Less than three hours later, it left earth orbit to begin its journey to the Moon.
Police from Edgartown, Mass., on Martha’s Vineyard, arrived 19 July at the scene of an automobile accident on Chappaquiddick Island, and found the body of 27-year-old Mary Jo Kopechne inside an automobile that had fallen into a deep pond. Afterward, U.S. Senator Edward “Teddy” Kennedy reported that he had accidentally driven off of the bridge 10 hours earlier and that he had escaped the car, leaving Miss Kopechne inside, left the scene, and gone back to his bedroom to sleep. The senator’s explanation for failing to report the event for 10 hours was that he had been “in shock.” Kennedy pleaded guilty on 25 July to leaving the scene of an accident and was given a suspended sentence of two months in jail and one year’s probation.
Buzz Aldrin descends ladder from the Eagle to the surface of the Moon.Buzz Aldrin salutes US flag planted on Moon surface.
As millions watched on live TV on 20 July (but not those on the Biddle or out in the field in Vietnam), Neil Armstrong piloted the Apollo 11 lunar module, named “Eagle,” to the surface of the Moon. Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin became the first humans to land on another world. About seven hours after landing, Armstrong set foot on the moon and said, “That’s one small step for man . . . one giant leap for mankind.” Armstrong later said that he had actually said, “That’s one small step for a man . . . .” and that radio transmission had obscured the single article. Michael Collins, alone in the Apollo 11 command module, “Columbia,” for more than 21 hours, maintained an orbit around the Moon. When he was on the far side of the Moon, he was at least 2,222 miles away from the nearest human being (his fellow astronauts on the Moon), with no radio contact with Earth or his crewmates, and more than 244,000 miles and a 2,100 mile-wide ball of rock “between him and every other human who ever lived.” On 21 July, in what NASA considered the most dangerous part of the Apollo 11 mission, Aldrin piloted the Eagle to rendezvous with the command module. Apollo 11 splashed down in the South Pacific on 24 July and the astronauts were recovered later that day by the USS Hornet (CV-12). The crew arrived back in Houston, at NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center, on 27 July.
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.”
Our friends, the Shore Patrol, doing their stroll in Olongapo. Cruise book photo
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.”
A shot of the placid sea off the Philippines to which CAPT Olsen referred.
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.
USS Chicago (CG-11) on station. That’s North Vietnam on horizon to left.
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.)
Remains of the Evans. Cruise book photo
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.
LT Libbey (l) and me, NAS Cubi Point, shortly after arriving in port.
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.
Helo on deck of USS Kearsarge (CV-33), Yankee Station
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.
