Blue and Gold 1968-71 – Page 12 – Active Duty in the US Navy

My new world

Memories of my first few weeks aboard the Biddle, tied up to one of the D&S piers in Norfolk, are not particularly clear, especially in details. (I kept a daily journal during the 26 May-21 December deployment, so that should at least allow some details.) My interaction with enlisted personnel was very limited because I wasn’t really doing anything yet, but I did interact with some of the officers, all but a very few holding higher rank.

I already mentioned I met the Captain for a “new officer” talk. I expect I also talked with the Executive Officer, CDR Allen Smith III. I thought of him as somewhat patrician, maybe because of the III in his name. He may have been very personable, but to me, the boot ensign, he was XO, a Commander, second only to the near deity who was my Captain.

I was assigned at some point to the OI Division in the Operations Department. As I had mentioned and as I will relate below, I was an “add-on,” not one of the regularly assigned officers to a ship like the Biddle. I was a “special duty officer,” unable to be assigned to ship-driving and other duties “normal” line officers would undertake. The Operations Department Head at the time was LCDR Steinbrink and my division officer was LT Grey Libbey.

. . . and a gentleman
These days aboard Biddle were my first experience with life as a Navy Officer . . . and it was pretty nice. OCS was officer “boot camp” and, after commissioning, I had lived in an off-base apartment in Norfolk while attending Intelligence and CIC training. I ate breakfast and dinner off-base. On the Biddle, I was assigned a stateroom. As an ensign, my stateroom was in the junior officer group a couple/three decks below the weather deck, near or below the water line, aft. These were two-officer units, with two bunks, above and below, along the exterior bulkhead; side-by-side compartments providing space for clothing and built-in, drop-down “desks” along an interior bulkhead; and two(?) sinks and mirrors on the opposite bulkhead. (Oh, the color scheme was grey.) There was a communal head (bathroom and showers) nearby.

Even better, I may have been alone in my stateroom initially. Those times underway when I lived in a stateroom, my roommate was a “spook,” the officer in charge of a contingent of linguists who listened to North Vietnamese communications. But until we picked up a Destroyer Squadron staff and/or the spooks, which added to the total number of officers, I may have lucked out in a single.

My clothes were laundered, my bed made, and my quarters cleaned by stewards, exclusively at the time Filipino citizens who were able to serve in the US Navy in that capacity. (Soon thereafter, in early 1971, Filipinos were recruited not only for steward duty, but for any Navy rating for which they would qualify.)

Stewards also cooked and served the food provided officers in the ship’s wardroom. The officers’ wardroom was a combination dining room and man cave. In addition to a long table athwartship to accommodate all the officers on board, there were a couple of smaller tables and couches with coffee tables for TV viewing. Under normal, in-port routine, the wardroom offered breakfast, lunch, and dinner to officers during designated periods. One could also drop by for additional refreshments, as at least one steward was always on duty.

A bright, shiny object
Several times during these first weeks, I was approached by a member of the duty section and told the Captain requested my presence in his quarters. The first time that happened, I was quite concerned. Had my efforts to be as “invisible” as possible backfired and caused complaint?

I was very nervous the first time I received that “invitation” and knocked on his door. On that occasion and several more, I was “shown off” to visiting friends of the Captain or superior officers as some sort of “trophy.” “Admiral, I want you to meet our Intelligence Officer. We are one of a very few Destroyer Leaders to have an officer with an Intelligence designator assigned” or something like that. Meanwhile, I, a 22-year-old nerd of historic proportions but slight physical stature, tried to appear manly and officer-like and answer questions without too much stammering or drooling.

Only nine days to go before we (50 years ago) deploy. Next post will be about time with Captain Olsen.

Reporting, as ordered

USS Biddle underway, 25 April 1969, Hampton Roads area (US Navy photo)

On 3 May, 50 years ago (a Saturday then), I began what I still consider my “real” time in the Navy. I walked down a D&S (destroyer and submarine) pier in Norfolk, Va., went up the gangway, saluted the ensign on the stern (the U.S. flag, not a most junior officer), requested permission to come aboard from the Officer of the Deck, and reported, as ordered, aboard USS Biddle (DLG-34), a warship soon to deploy to sea.

Though I doubt I realized it at the time, I was quite fortunate in being ordered to what was then the newest warship in the Navy. Biddle had been commissioned on 21 January 1967, a little more than two years earlier, at the Boston Naval Shipyard. (Still a student at Boston College at the time, I could have attended that ceremony, had I known. :))

These are pages from a “Welcome Aboard” pamphlet provided me, probably on arrival.

Biddle_welcome_cvr_mag

Image 1 of 14

While the pamphlet’s message from the Commanding Officer is signed by CAPT Maylon Scott, first Biddle CO, the commanding officer when I reported aboard was CAPT Alfred Olsen. That Biddle‘s commanding officer was a Captain and not a Commander reflected the status of DLGs at the time.

DLG was the acronym for Destroyer Leader, Guided Missile. Biddle was the last of the Belknap class of DLGs, the third class commissioned since 1960. Though larger than typical destroyers, these ships could not be called “cruisers,” because much larger ships with that title, such as the Chicago and Newport News, commissioned right after World War II, were still active. (In 1975, when the older cruisers were no longer active, DLGs were renamed cruisers and Biddle became CG-34.)

Biddle had not been sitting in port, waiting for me. She had put to sea on 28 March, bound for the West Indies. There, she conducted tests of recent modifications made to her radar, making six missile shoots. Returning to the Hampton Roads area (as shown in photo at top), she loaded missiles, torpedoes, and ammunition at Yorktown, Va., on 30 April and returned to her Norfolk berth on 1 May.

At some point that weekend, I likely met my two fellow ensigns — Jack Roberts and Steve Curran. Curran was a special surprise, because, though we had not known each other at the time, we had been classmates at Boston College. So we had connections and common memories that helped forge a quick friendship. Roberts was from Texas and had gone to school in Arkansas, so he was the someone different one would expect to meet in the Navy. (Curran and I were the “someones different” to him, of course.)

Curran, commissioned from OCS in mid-March, had attended CIC school in Dam Neck, Va., and had likely reported to Biddle on the same weekend as me.

“One of my first impressions was how quiet the ship was on a Sunday,” Curran said. “Then Monday morning began with a flurry of activities, like morning colors, plan-of-the-day etc. I had to report to Capt. Olsen that morning, who gave me some very stern ‘fatherly advice.’ He said that on board his ship he wanted all his officers to respect the enlisted personnel and to realize what they wanted from their officers. That key word was ‘consistency’! He advised that I not try to be a ‘hard ass’ disciplinarian one day and their long last friend the next day. That behavior would only confuse the men and lead to a breakdown in morale. I should be ‘consistent in all your dealings with the men.’

“Another impression,” Curran added, “was getting oriented to the different levels and passageways on the Biddle. I didn’t want to look like a ‘freshly minted Ensign’ and have to ask one of the enlisted personnel how to get to ‘Officers’ Country’ or which ladder led to the wardroom.”

Roberts, the “bull” (senior) ensign, having reported to Biddle in January, said his first thoughts upon reporting onboard were that “I was totally unprepared for what I had gotten myself into. Four months at Newport had not made me a competent naval officer and I knew that. I was glad I was the Assistant Combat Information Center Officer and not in charge of anything. I just hoped my ignorance and inexperience were not so obvious that I would become a favorite target of the other officers.”

I must have also met with the Captain and have heard much the same speech. I certainly had the same feeling as Roberts. I later had the opportunity to spend “alone time” with Capt. Olsen, which I will report on. Safe to say, it was not a comfortable experience for a dumb ensign.

I earlier referred to the time after OCS as the “real Navy.” That didn’t start until the Biddle.

May 1969

Some of what was happening in the U.S. and around the world 50 years ago.

The world’s newest ocean liner, Queen Elizabeth 2, departed Southampton, England, on May 2 on its maiden voyage. The ship was the first to make private use of a Global Positioning System, connecting with four U.S. Navy satellites to identify its position within 100 feet, and signaling what some said was “the end of dead reckoning and sextant.” The QE2 arrived in New York City five days later.

The U.S. Navy announced on May 6 that it would not seek courts martial against any member of the crew of the USS Pueblo, seized in early 1968 by North Korea. The crew had been held captive by North Korea for 11 months and were questioned for 80 days by a Naval Court of Inquiry, conducted in Coronado, Calif. The Court of Inquiry had recommended general courts martial of Pueblo skipper, CDR Lloyd Bucher, and the officer in charge of the ship’s intelligence section, LT Stephen Harris, for allowing North Korean seizure of the ship, equipment, and codebooks. Secretary of the Navy John Chafee said he overruled the court’s recommendation because the crew “had suffered long enough” and added, “I am convinced that neither individual discipline, nor the state of discipline or morale of the Navy, nor any other interest requires further legal proceedings.”

Saint Christopher, revered by many Catholics and others as the patron saint of travelers, was removed from the liturgical calendar by the Roman Catholic Church on May 9. He was among 40 others removed following Vatican research that determined none of them had existed.

The battle of Hamburger Hill, later demonstrated to be the most costly — in terms of lives lost — U.S. offensive in the Vietnam War began May 10 as an airstrike on Hill 937 of the Dong Ap Bia mountain range in South Vietnam. Members of the 101st Airborne Division were sent in the next day.

The last Chevrolet Corvair — a 1969 Corvair Monza sport coupe — rolled off the assembly line at General Motors’ plant near Ypsilanti, Mich., on May 14. During its 10-year production run, the rear-engine car had been popular — 1.7 million sold — and controversial — subject of Ralph Nadar’s book about it, Unsafe at Any Speed.

On May 18, Apollo 10 launched from Cape Canaveral on what was described as “a dress rehearsal of a lunar landing mission.”

The American press first used the term “Hamburger Hill” on May 19 to describe the military action between U.S. and North Vietnamese forces begun nine days earlier, as the total of U.S. forces killed exceeded 50. Reinforced by South Vietnamese troops, U.S. and South Vietnamese forces captured the hill on May 20, following 12 charges up the 3,000-foot hill to dislodge North Vietnamese troops. Seventy-two Americans were killed in the battle, with another eight missing in action; more than 400 were wounded. U.S. Army officials later acknowledged that capture of the hill had “no tactical significance.”

Eugene Cernan, John Young, and Thomas Stafford were crew of Apollo 10.

Apollo 10 returned to Earth on May 26, following a successful eight-day test of all the elements needed for the upcoming first manned Moon landing. The USS Princeton was within three miles of the splashdown target in the South Pacific and recovered the capsule.

Mario Andretti won his first and only Indianapolis 500 on May 29. Having won the 1967 Daytona 500, Andretti became the first driver to win races for both Formula One and NASCAR Stock carsl.

April 1969

Some of what happened in the U.S. and around the world in the month of April, 50 years ago.

On April 3, DoD announced that the number of Americans killed in the Vietnam War had exceeded 32,629, which had been the toll from the Korean War. As of March 28, 33,641 Americans had been killed.

The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, both popular and controversial, was canceled by CBS on April 4. The television network said the producers, Dick Smothers and Tommy Smothers, had failed to submit tapes of shows for CBS and local stations to preview and were “unwilling to accept the criteria for taste established by the network’s program practices department.”

Baseball’s four newest teams all won games on opening day, April 8. The San Diego Padres beat Houston, 3-1; Montreal Expos defeated the New York Mets, 11-10; Kansas City Royals (replacing the Athletics, which had moved to Oakland) beat Minnesota Twins, 4-3; and the Seattle Pilots won, 4-3, over the California Angels. Auspicious start for Seattle, but the Pilots went bankrupt and became the Milwaukee Brewers in 1970.

Cambridge (Mass.) police and Massachusetts State Police, employing billy clubs and pepper spray, evicted about 300 Harvard students and supporters from the Harvard Administration Building occupied by the students earlier on April 9. Police arrested 184 and injured 45. Among those arrested was Chris Wallace, now a Fox News journalist, who used his one phone call to contact the campus radio station and give a first-hand account.

An unarmed U.S. EC-121 reconnaissance plane was shot down on April 15 by a North Korean MiG-21 over the Sea of Japan. All 31 servicemen onboard were killed. The U.S. response was limited to sending Navy warships to the area for 10 days and adding armed escorts to future reconnaissance flights in the region.

Sirhan Sirhan was convicted on April 18 in Los Angeles County Superior Court for the murder of U.S. Senator Robert F. Kennedy the previous year.

Community members of Berkeley, Calif., seized an empty lot owned by the University of California on April 20 and began to build “People’s Park.”

Bill Clinton, then a 22-year-old Rhodes Scholar at the University of Oxford and future President of the United States, received an induction notice on April 22, directing him to return to the U.S. to begin military service. The letter had arrived late, and Clinton would get a postponement of his reporting date. He then avoided induction by agreeing to enroll in the Army ROTC program at the University of Arkansas in 1970. He would renege on that commitment.

The number of U.S. troops in South Vietnam reached its peak — 543,842 — on April 30. From the next month on, until the end of the Vietnam war, the number would steadily decline.

Mike McCance 1947-77

(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.

March 1969

Some of what was going on in the U.S. and around the world during March 1969.

The number of Americans killed in action in Vietnam, according to the U.S. Department of Defense, was 32,376 as of the week that ended on March 1. The total would later in the month surpass the 33,629 U.S. deaths in the Korean War.

NASA launched Apollo 9 on March 3. Astronauts James McDivitt, David Scott, and Rusty Schweickart were to test the lunar module’s ability to undock and redock with the lunar orbiter, deemed crucial to a future effort to land on the moon and return.

March 3 was also the day the Navy established the Navy Fighter Weapons School, known popularly as “Top Gun,” at then-Naval Air Station, Miramar, in San Diego. Top Gun pilots flew the F-4 Phantom.

In Memphis, Tenn., James Earl Ray, 41, pleaded guilty on March 10 to the assassination of Martin Luther King on April 4, 1968. By pleading guilty, Ray avoided a potential death penalty.

The U.S. Senate voted 83-15 on March 13 to ratify the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, signed the previous July.

President Nixon issued secret orders on March 15 to extend U.S. military operations to Cambodia. The secret bombing of Cambodia began on March 18 and was revealed by the New York Times in April.

Golda Meir was sworn in on March 17 as the first female Prime Minister of Israel.

Beatle John Lennon and Yoko Ono were married March 20 at Gibraltar.

In his final college game on March 22, Lew Alcindor (later known as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) scored 37 points to lead UCLA to its third consecutive NCAA basketball championship. The Bruins beat Purdue, 92-72.

Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander in WWII and 34th President of the United States (1953-61), died at Walter Reed Army Hospital, Washington, D.C., on March 28. He was 78 years old.

The 79th and last original episode of Star Trek, “Turnabout Intruder,” was broadcast on March 28. NBC had announced previously it would not renew the show for a fourth season. This is the scene from that episode in which a woman from Captain Kirk’s past exchanges bodies with him.

The Allman Brothers Band made its debut on March 30 at the Jacksonville Armory, Florida. Here they are at the Fillmore East in September 1970.

Norfolk

Fifty years ago, Naval Station Norfolk was, I believe, what it is now — the world’s largest naval base. I was there to go to the Fleet Operational Intelligence Training Center, Atlantic (FOITCLANT) to take a course of study I believe was called BITS (maybe Basic Intelligence Training “Something”?).

I don’t know if there was an equivalent school on the West Coast. I’m pretty sure the two other members of OCS 6903 with the Intel designator were at the same school. I was also near the ship to which I had been ordered to report, following Intelligence and then Combat Information Center (CIC) training for nine weeks.

At some point at OCS, I had received orders to the USS Biddle (DLG-34). I saw that its home port was Norfolk and I naively thought I might be going on a deployment to the Mediterranean. The expected Navy etiquette was for an officer to send a note to the Executive Officer of the ship to which he had been ordered, conveying that he had orders and otherwise announcing his impending arrival. I remember being at home in Springfield when I received a note from the XO, welcoming me to the ship, giving me some logistical information, and pointing out we would be leaving in May on a WESTPAC deployment. Arrivederci, Med!

I remember very little of the courses February-May. I do remember doing something quite stupid, however. After several months at OCS, I didn’t want to live in Navy housing any longer. Instead of using the BOQ (Bachelor Officers Quarters), I rented a room in an inexpensive motel in Norfolk. While the motel might have been “inexpensive,” the BOQ would have been free. I was also isolated from other officers, something I now regret.

I also made a couple of weekend trips back to Boston. It had a hold on me. I remember flying on Agony Airlines, the moniker given to Allegheny Airlines at the time. On one particular trip, we approached Boston in a snowstorm. Visibility appeared to be nil. After what seemed like many changes in course and in elevation, we touched down and the passengers gave the crew a rousing round of applause.

It’s over. Real Navy begins.

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.

The ball

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.

Stuff plus

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.