by Guy Willard
I felt my heart sink sickeningly.
“And he looked up towards the helo hangar just by chance….”
I didn’t hear the rest of the story. I thought back to the first night I’d seen the silhouettes up there myself, and the other larger one down below peering up at them. And I’d thought all along it was Richie.
I’d always suspected Senior Chief Russell was queer; ever since coming on board, I’d been the recipient of significant looks and jokes, playful pokes in the ribs. Naturally I’d snubbed these overtures, as had both Kyle and Brad. But I’d had no idea about the depths of his feelings. I recalled the time I’d bumped into him on my way up to Paradise Beach. Apparently he’d been in the habit of spying on us from below, getting his kicks in the only way he could. I could just picture him, the lonely rejected suitor, night after night, gazing up at us with insane jealousy as we did all the things he wished he could do. And now this was his way of getting back at us.
There wasn’t much I could say. “Why did it take this long for the shit to hit the fan?”
“The chief had told the XO about it before, but he’d let it slide that time. And now this ear-ring business comes up—it’s like the straw that breaks the camel’s back. He really had no choice this time.”
“I guess not.”
He winced at the undisguised irony in my voice. “I’m really sorry, Bill. You’re a damned good corpsman, and you never got into any trouble. From looking at your service records, I can tell you would have had a great career in the Navy. I’m really sorry to be losing you.”
“Losing? You mean I’m gonna be booted out?”
A confidential look came over his face. “I’ll be honest with you. Personally, I have nothing against what anyone’s sexual preferences may be. But in this case, we have no choice. We have to abide by Navy regs.” His eyes looked truly sorrowful.
I’d never planned to stay in the Navy anyway after my four-year hitch was up. Still, I knew there’d be a void in my life when I got out. As much as I hated the Navy sometimes, I’d grown accustomed to it. To leave it all so suddenly, without any emotional preparation, would be like having the breath knocked out of me. You may hate the very air you breathe, but you continue to breathe.
“How soon will we know what’s going to happen to us?”
He shook his head. “I’m sure we’ll know by the time we get to Diego.”
It was a seven-day crossing from Hawaii to Diego. “What exactly will they do to me?”
“Well, if it’s the usual, you’ll be offered a chance to sign a paper waiving your rights to a hearing…in return for an automatic general discharge.”
“What happens if I don’t sign?”
“It’s better if you do. That way, you’re at least guaranteed a general discharge, whereas if the case goes to court-martial, you might end up with a bad conduct discharge, an undesirable discharge, or even a dishonorable one. The Navy just wants to avoid all the time and hassle involved with a court-martial.”
“So if I sign, I’m out, just like that?”
“Well....” He looked away. “You might be asked to name names, to tell naval investigators all the people with whom you’ve had relations. That’s the usual procedure.”
“Why?”
“So they can identify more homosexuals.”
“I won’t cooperate. Nobody can make me sink that low.”
He looked acutely embarrassed.
“Listen, chief,” I said. “Get me out of that and I’ll sign the paper waiving my rights. I don’t wanna cause the command any trouble. Is it a deal?”
He looked weary as he nodded. “All right. You have my promise.”
“Thanks, chief.” I stood up.
“Sorry it had to end this way, Bill. If there’s anything else I can do for you, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Of course.” I still felt as if I’d betrayed a trust, or had cheated on his affection for me.
Later I heard that an extra watch had been posted on the helo deck at night for the duration of the cruise.
I got back to sick bay, but hadn’t been there five minutes when Kyle dropped by. He looked pale. I asked my first class if I could take a five-minute break. He shrugged as if he didn’t care what I did anymore. Our work relations were beginning to sour already. Apparently he was being needled by his buddies down in the first class lounge.
I followed Kyle out to the fantail. I had nothing to lose now in being seen with him.
“What are we gonna do, Bill?” He wasn’t wearing his silly ear-ring anymore: it had been replaced by a look of desperation bordering on paranoia.
Unlike me, he’d been disliked by most of the crew from the start. His walk and his mannerisms gave him away as an “obvious” type. Ever since boot camp he’d had to put up with taunts and slanders. Now guys were dropping notes on his bunk, some of them containing death threats. His clothes were “disappearing” from the ship’s laundry, his mail was getting lost. (As for me, I was probably seen as a “regular guy” who’d slipped. Still, I knew I’d better avoid using the passageways at night.)
I shrugged. “What can we do? They got us. We’ll probably get general discharges.”
A general discharge (also known as an administrative discharge) was usually handed out to drug offenders, conscientious objectors, homosexuals, and the like—all the undesirable elements within the Navy. It was considered neither honorable nor dishonorable, but somewhere in between. Though it carried full veterans’ benefits with it, it was still viewed askance by most sailors. Dishonorables were so rarely handed out nowadays that a general one was viewed in the same light as a dishonorable once was.
Kyle gave me a fierce look. “Did you know that when they give you a general discharge, they have to state the reasons for the discharge on the papers?”
“So?”
“So that means your parents will find out. They send a letter home to your parents explaining why you got kicked out. They have to.”
I felt sick. That was what scared me the most. It would be painful for my mom and dad to find out I was gay. Though I’d wanted them to learn about it eventually, I didn’t expect it to be this soon.
Kyle was probably thinking the same thing. “Well, I don’t know about you, but my parents don’t know I’m gay. It would break their hearts. What the Navy’s doing is unconstitutional. We have a right to our privacy—even if we are fags.”
I sighed and said in an even voice, trying to keep my temper down: “When you join the military, you give up a lot of your constitutional rights. You become an expendable piece of equipment. Not even your life is your own. When I was in corpsman school, I helped treat several cases of attempted suicide. There’s no specific clause in the military regs which deals with attempted suicide, but they had to charge these guys with something, so do you know what they did? They charged them with ‘destruction of government property.’ Because that’s exactly what you and I are right now: government property.”
“Well I don’t care. I talked it over with Brad and we decided we’re taking it to court.”
“Forget it. There’s nothing you can do.”
“How about you? Are you just gonna let them kick you out?”
“I knew this was one of the risks I was taking when I first joined up, and so did you.”
When I’d signed my enlistment papers, there had been a question just before the end: Do you have homosexual inclinations, or have you ever engaged in homosexual activities? I had checked “no” because I knew I wouldn’t have been allowed into the Navy if I hadn’t. I’d lied. And so had Kyle. And now they’d caught us out in our lies and we were paying the consequences for it.
“Let’s face it, Kyle,” I said. “The Navy has us, if for nothing else than breach of contract.”
He looked disgusted. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m fighting it. You may be a quitter, but I’m not.”
I blew up at this. “If you guys hadn’t started all this by getting those faggoty ear-r
ings, none of this would have happened!”
“You’re a fine one to talk. Come off it, Bill. Deep down you’re just as faggoty as I am. At least I’m honest about it, not a hypocrite like you.”
“You know something? Sometimes I think it’s true: a fag’s worst enemy is another fag!” I turned away to go back to sick bay, and heard him say to my back:
“Isn’t that my line?”
I was through with the Paradise Beach gang.
As the ship approached Diego, the crew became more and more restless; after nearly nine months away from our homeport, it was impossible not to be caught up in the frenetic party-like atmosphere. Even we, the branded outcasts, were infected.
Now that the air was cleared, so to speak, and everything was out in the open, I was surprised at the number of guys who showed me sympathy and support. These were guys who were absolutely straight, but who apparently had no sexual insecurities.
The majority of the crew, though, were far otherwise. Their deep-rooted paranoia about homosexuality was so ingrained that their reaction was like an automatic knee-jerk: a fag was someone to be shunned and hated. Now that they’d discovered another facet of me, guys who’d once been so open and friendly became curt and impersonal.
But far worse than them, it was the undetected gays on board who acted the most prudishly offended, especially those who were on the borderline, or who had “dabbled.” Of course they were the ones who had the most to lose if they were suspected. I could almost sympathize with their need to protect themselves. Almost.
I was most surprised at Richie’s transformation. He seemed so scared of me that he actually started in terror whenever I walked into a compartment where he was. But I had no intention of giving him—or anyone else—away; their secret was safe with me.
Now that it was safe to do so, many of the guys openly admitted to their curiosity about homosexuality. Under the guise of fascinated revulsion, they sat around Kyle listening to the tales he told. And he was most willing to oblige them. One evening I sat on the mess deck a few tables away, listening in without joining them. Kyle was talking about hustling.
“When I was in A-school in Diego, I’d go up to LA every weekend and cruise the streets looking for johns.”
“Did you make good money?” asked one guy.
“Of course. Why do you think I did it so much? Wanna know something? I always wore my dress uniform when I went up there, too: it was a sure hit. You should have seen them hit the brakes when they spotted me in my sailor’s suit. That was the only time I was glad I joined the Navy.”
“What kind of guys picked you up?”
“All kinds: businessmen, mechanics, teachers, football coaches, airline pilots, even a mayor from a small town in Oregon. Catholic priests….”
“Catholic priests?”
“Oh yes. You wouldn’t believe how wild they can get. And it wasn’t always men, either. There’s plenty of women who go for that kind of thing. You’d be surprised at the number of rich women—some of them married, too—who offered me money to be kept by them.”
“And you passed that up?”
“I can’t stand women, junior.”
“What are some of the things you had to do with your customers?”
“Oh, you name it. I’ve been tied up, beat up, pissed on. And a lot of them want me to beat them. They can’t get off in any other way. I’m always happy to oblige, of course. It’s an easy way to make money.”
“What was the weirdest thing you ever did?”
“This one guy—he was a used car dealer from Phoenix—wanted me to shit on his face.”
“Gross!”
“But that’s a rare case. Mostly it was just the old F-and-S.”
“Meaning?”
“Fucking and sucking.”
One of the guys at another table—a snipe—turned around at this. He had a look on his face indicating he’d had as much as he could take. In an obnoxious, cutting tone, he asked, “And what’s it like to suck dick, Roberts?”
In answer, Kyle picked up the chicken drumstick on his tray, brought it up to his mouth and slid it in as far as it would go.
“Jesus Christ!” The snipe banged away from the table with his friends in disgust. “Get me away from this fucking fag!”
Kyle called out after them: “You can call me whatever you like, but in a few days, you’ll have to call me long-distance.”
We were a little ahead of schedule and had to anchor out the night before we came into port. This was because there would be a welcome-back ceremony on the pier when we pulled in, complete with a brass band and perhaps even a television crew filming a segment for the local news.
At 7 o’clock in the morning, we cruised slowly up the channel, past the breakwater, passing marker buoy after marker buoy. A tug came out to meet us, spraying out water from its fire hoses in salute. It came alongside and a pilot came aboard our ship. He was a retired Navy captain, looking a little shabby with his long, unkempt hair. Under his orders (relayed to the tug crew with a walkie-talkie) the tug nosed us slowly and awkwardly into our assigned berth.
I watched it all from my vantage point above the helo deck, on the former Paradise Beach. An excited crowd milled about on the pier, mostly family members holding banners and placards which read “We Love U, Daddy,” “Welcome Home, Sweetheart” and similar things. The band struck up “Anchors Aweigh” and then “Stars and Stripes Forever.” I watched it all with a heavy heart, knowing it would be for the last time.
The first rope was tossed ashore, caught by some sailors in a working party from another ship, and as soon as they secured it to a bollard on the pier, the boatswain’s mate’s whistle sounded over the 1MC, followed by his announcement: “Moored. Shift colors.”
Balloons slowly lifted into the air at this, dotting the sky with spots of red, green, and yellow. But a lot of work still remained before the brow could go over. There was the usual bustle back on the fantail as the rest of the lines were sent over and secured, and it was another 30 minutes or so before all seven mooring lines were in place.
Meanwhile, sailors on the neighboring ships—looking grubby in their everyday dungarees (we were in dress blues for the occasion)—gazed in amusement at all the fuss our ship was creating. They pointed out the pretty girls on the pier to each other.
Liberty call wouldn’t be passed for a while yet, but a lot of guys were already milling around in the doorways, dressed in their civvies. But no one cared. As soon as the brow was secured, liberty call was passed, and there was a rush of sailors flowing onto the pier.
A fury of embracing followed as girlfriends, wives, and children rushed to greet them. I spotted Ensign McDavid in the crowd passionately kissing an attractive girl—Cindy, I presumed.
Senior Chief Russell, the instrument of my downfall, was also in the crowd, in the arms of his dumpy-looking wife. Near him was his son, about 12 years old, looking a little embarrassed by all the emotion around him. He was gazing intently at the ship’s equipment.
Even the sailors who had no one waiting for them on the pier were just as eager as the others to leave the ship. Hastily saluting the flag on the fantail, then the OOD, they scampered down the gangplank and pushed their way through the crowd. There was a storage garage on base where many of them kept their motorcycles and cars; no doubt they were in a hurry to visit girlfriends or family living out of state.
Everybody was in such a hurry to go someplace, to meet someone. Although I had liberty until 8 o’clock the next morning, I didn’t feel like going out into town. My days onboard were numbered anyway—I might as well spend the remainder of my time on the ship which had been my home for over a year now.
I spotted Jim walking down the brow with his bicycle slung over his shoulder. No doubt he was heading down to Broadway to check out the latest X-rated flicks before going to see his massage parlor cutie.
On the pier, the commotion was finally dying down as people headed off to their cars in the parking lot. For me, this cer
emony marked the end of an adventure; a phase of my life was ending and I felt as if I were awakening from a long dream. I wondered to myself whether I’d found what I’d set out to find. My heart felt empty and I didn’t want to know the answer.
The next day turned out to be my last on board. We were on holiday schedule, and nearly three-quarters of the crew were still on extended liberty. Only a minimum of people remained aboard since we were back to a 6-section watch, as opposed to the 3-section one we’d been on the whole time we were overseas. (This was the absolute minimum number of men required to get the ship underway in an emergency.) The ship was like a ghost town—dead.
And then everything started happening at once. I was told to go to the ship’s personnel office where I signed some papers. Then I went around to all the departments with a check-out sheet getting the initials or signatures of the duty department heads. The dreaded ordeal went by so quickly that it was painless. For the people involved, it was just another job. Some of them shook my hand and wished me luck, but others refused to even touch me, as if I carried some loathsome disease.
Since Kyle and Brad were consulting with the legal advisor on base, I was the only one checking out. I knew they would create a lot of resentment within the ship by their action; it could only bring them more trouble later.
I finished signing out and went back to the personnel office to pick up my orders. Then I went down to my locker and packed everything I had into my seabag. As I passed through the mess deck on my way up to the quarterdeck I ran into Jim.
I had thought he’d be disgusted to learn I was queer, but his attitude surprised me. Grabbing my seabag and hoisting it over his shoulder, he followed me up to the quarterdeck. There we shook hands, and he said softly in his Texas drawl, “They got no right to treat you like this. They’re treatin’ you like you was dirt.”
“Thanks, Jim.”
“The Navy sucks.”
“I don’t regret joining, though. We had a lot of good times together, didn’t we?”