February 4, 1973, Sunday
The word spread quickly. Someone had stolen the Texas Company’s flags. The division command was pissed. All hell was ready to break loose. This was not summer camp. If the flags didn’t get returned, then they were going to tear up all the barracks, piece by piece. I didn’t want everybody to get in trouble because of me. We have had enough and we were so close to leaving.
The CC was in the office finishing up his paperwork. I took the flag pieces to him. “Sir, I found these, sir.” I held out the flags. His eyes lit up. “What do you expect me to do with them, lad?” he asked, smiling.
“Sir, I am turning myself in. I don’t want anybody to get in trouble because of me. I acted alone,” I said.
“Once again, what do you want me to do, lad?” he asked again.
“Sir, you are my superior, you tell me, sir,” I answered.
He hesitated. “If I were you, I would secretly drop those flags somewhere outside, away from this barracks,” he offered. “Wait here, Licata, I will be right back.” He went into the head. He came back. “Before you do that, Licata, I want you to clean the head.” He picked up the flags from the desk and handed them to me. “Here, use these special rags for the job.”
“Sir, yes, sir“.
I took the rags. I was smiling. So was he. I did my about-face. I took a piss and put on the toilet gloves. I scrubbed the toilets harder than I ever scrubbed. When I was finished I had Adams march me close to the Texas Company barracks. I tossed the filthy wet flags on a Dumpster where they could be seen. We marched away. It must have worked. The rumor spread that the flags were found and would be shipped home immediately.
The recruit officers have all made their way back from leave. The stories they brought back are never ending. Later.
February 5, 1973, Monday
It’s a sad happy day. We packed our seabags. We got in our dress whites. We smartly tied our silky neckerchiefs. We said our good byes. We promised that we would keep in touch. We promised that we would see each other again. I am going to miss those guys. The CC is nowhere. Rodger is getting us off in the right direction, on the right bus, to catch the right flight to our next duty. Sam is attending the same school as me, except his is in Chicago.
We were on our way to the buses, they were about thirty feet away. “Wait stop, I forgot. Come back everybody!” Rodger was yelling at us. He had a box with him. “Come back I forgot to give you your medal!” I was curious. I went back. “What the hell are you talking about? We didn’t do anything to deserve a medal.” Rodger explained to me. “These are the national defense medals with ribbon. Every military person in every branch gets one in the time of war. Even if you didn’t do any fighting. If you are in the military it is assumed that if you were needed to fight you would. We get a medal for being the back up,” said Rodger. I laughed at the irony.
Guys were helping themselves from the box. Some of them were taking two or three. They wanted a father or their brothers to have one. I said no thanks. Rodger said you deserve one as much or less than these guys. I said, “But, Rodger, that would mean I support the war.”
To which he replied, “Like you can support it any more than you do now you fool. Look around man, you just graduated from navy boot camp. In my book you not only support the war you’re part of it.” He was so fucking right. I took the medal. Before I boarded my bus I went to the base commissary (department store). I bought some civilian clothes. I stashed the dress whites in the seabag. I boarded a bus to the airport. My next post was Treasure Island by way of San Francisco.
The flight up the coast was very interesting. From above the shoreline in the airplane I could see row after row of abandoned WWII navy warships. Eventually they will be towed to Japan for scrap metal. We used them long enough to win the war. Then we turn around and sell them the spoils of the war. Later I hope.
February 5, 1973, Tuesday
Yesterday after landing in San Francisco it was fairly easy to find the right bus to the navy base. Mind you San Francisco is filled with naval bases just like San Diego. I needed to ask for directions. I learned quickly the difference in how people treat me now and how people treated me before. Before the navy, the people that were afraid of me were the business types, the short hairs. People that were approachable were the long hairs the hippies. Now the long hairs don’t trust me. They are reluctant to give me the time of day. They don’t have time for a baby killer. The airport is half military and retired military. The other half is hippies and long hairs. Then there are the folks that don’t give a crap. I get directions from some navy guys. After the obligatory “Where you from?” of course.
Treasure Island is not the Paradise Island in the book. It was a navy fuel and ammo distribution center during WWII. It is mostly a land filled dump, creating an island. During the Wars I and II it was the last stop for a warship. While in dock the ships were loaded with men and the supply’s to keep men alive. The ships stopped at Treasure Island, where they were loaded up with the supply’s to kill men. From there it was ocean beyond the Golden Gate Bridge. The island sits in the bay between Oakland and San Francisco. It can be reached by water (ocean) or by an exit off of the Oakland Bay Bridge. It sits in the San Francisco Bay. From the Island I can look out and up to see both famous bridges. This island has been transferred and remolded into a modern navy school. This is the west coast Fire Fighters School for Hull Technicians and Damage Control.
I found my barracks easily enough. I guess I learned something about navy ways and navy jargon from the classes that I attended. The barracks is a modern looking apartment. It’s a dormitory. It has a main lobby. It is composed of two attached but separate buildings, two separate stairs. It is nine stories high, each floor has twenty five two men rooms. Each room has a bathroom, sink, toilet and shower stall. It has a bathroom door with a lock. The hall door cannot be locked. The closets have doors also, Semi privacy, wow. No elevator, open stairs. I am on the seventh floor.
I got a great roommate Peter. He says he is half Indian, half German. He looks total German except his hair, its coal black it shines like an Indian hair. Before he was drafted he was a surfer from Santa Barbra, California. He was in company 441. Six barracks down in boot camp. He is my kind of guy. He already picked a hidden spot down by the bay we could go to and get high. Later.
It was a great spot, hidden but we could see out if somebody was coming without being detected. If Peter hadn’t found it I would have.
We were ordered to report to the building’s master-at-arms. He gave us our new orders. It is instructions about school orientation, when and where. He directed us to the mess hall. The mess hall is great I have been traveling all day, eating snacks I have a bad case of the munchies. We freely walked to mess, nobody giving us marching orders. I can stop and scratch my ass and nobody cares, freedom is good.
As we walked, we walked step for step. We both noticed this phenomenon. Try as we may we couldn’t stop walking in step. Fuck, it is what it is. I noticed that I was doing this when I was home at Christmas also. Whoever I was walking with after about ten steps I would be in step with them. It was hell when I was walking with a group.
The food selection at the Mess hall is three times larger than Boot camps. Seconds and thirds are allowed. We could eat as many steaks as we want, I could get used to this. It’s late. Taps played a long time ago. We are grownups now, we can go to bed when we want to. I can go outside if I want. I can smoke anytime mostly, in class in my room and out and about. It’s a good feeling of freedom. Our orientation is tomorrow at 0800. I wonder if first CC got his bump in pension. Later.
February 7, 1973, Wednesday
I woke up to revile, I waited for the lights to come on, and they never did. I realized that I could sleep in for an hour more. The thought of using a bathroom alone was to over whelming. I got up I shit, showered and shaved. I waited for Peter to get ready; we went to morning chow. No more powered eggs. I could see the cooks actually breaking real eggs. I almost
forgot what the real ones tasted like. When I was home for the break; I mentioned we eat powered eggs, nobody believed me.
Orientation lasted three hours. I met four other guys that I hit it off with. Garza is from Arizona. Okie is from Oklahoma. Saul is from New York. Moe is from Chicago, he is black. They all are housed on my floor.
Peter and I showed them the smoking spot. I’ve seen more people with drugs in the navy than the people at home. The six of us are going to spend the weekend in downtown San Francisco. Getting some partying in before classes begin and scoring some drugs.
We reported to our school commander to get work details while we wait for classes to start next Monday. Okie, Garza and I were assigned to a landscaping party for the rest of the week starting tomorrow. We also got our watch schedule. We went to the base commissary. It was the biggest store I ever saw. It had everything from food to hammers, to shoes to eight track players. I bought an alarm clock, some underwear, socks, shirts and pants.
Steak was on the menu at mess. I went back for thirds. The cook said that we should enjoy it now. Due to the gas shortage Nixon is threatening to cut off seconds on all military mess facilities. Why is he taking it out on us? Later.
February 8, 1973, Thursday
My very own alarm clock set by myself woke me up this morning. I didn’t own an alarm clock at home. I didn’t need one, I had Mom. I like waking up by myself. After morning chow we reported to our work details on the base. I spent the day painting white rocks, white. The path way to the Division Headquarters here is lined with rocks. White smooth painted rocks. For a guy coming from the Rocky Mountains, where we have so many rocks it seems strange to paint rocks. And these rocks were all the same size, about half the size of a basketball. All day that’s what I did, white washing rocks. This was my way of protecting the country. If anybody asked, I personally got the white rocks covered in this war. The country can count on me. Later.
February 11, 1973, Sunday
On the base is an information center. It is mostly run by civilians. They have information on concerts, restaurants, parks, hotels. Information on anything and everything that has to do with San Francisco, Oakland and Berkeley. It has the bus schedules. It has a list of laws that we may not be aware of. We were encouraged to read them. Later.
We just got back, it is Sunday night. Earlier we got on the bus. It took us directly to downtown San Francisco. The navy has forbidden us to travel in uniform if we are off duty now. We are baby killers. We don’t want civilians to recognize us. They are yelling insults at us. We dress like them, however my hair is a giveaway. It doesn’t touch my ears. That makes me a killer. The Peaceniks and Hawks show more animosity towards each other in California than in Colorado.
Short hair doesn’t keep drug dealers from selling us pot. We hung out on Market Street. The first three guys that offered us pot wanted us to give them the money first. They would go get it and come back, Bullshit. Okie was fine with it. I wasn’t born tomorrow. Get the pot, show it to me, and quote me a price. The last guy did just that. I went alone with him to the back of a building. Just like at home, sometimes. He told me that most of these guys don’t have the pot. They know that if they approach enough sailors sooner or later they find a sucker. Dirtbag hippies are the worst kind of people.
We stayed in a beautiful historic hotel. This is a classy place, they let us stay anyway. We watched TV, ate snacks, smoked pot and did some sightseeing. Freedom and being a teenager with a military ID is okay.
Back at the dorm Peter set up an eight track he bought. We can listen to music while we study. At orientation we were given a stack of manuals to study. We were also given a stack of forms to fill out.
Led Zeppelin is playing, now is a good time to work on this stuff. If I walk down the hall I hear all different sounds of rock and roll music. Black Sabbath, Beatles, Stones, Santana, on and on. This could be a good floor to be on. Without trying I gravitate to the bad side. Later.
February 12, 1973, Monday
Last night I went to sleep deciding if I want to eat breakfast the following morning or if I want to sleep in the extra hour before classes. Normally this would be no big deal. It’s big now because it’s been a long time since it was my decision to make. I chose to sleep in.
Okie, Garza and I walked to class, we took our time. It was a foggy Bay Area morning. We didn’t have to march. We did have to salute any officer that we came a cross. That gets annoying quickly. The instructors informed us what to expect. We are training to be the first line of defense from an assortment of attacks. Nuclear, biological, and chemical attacks mostly. We are also going to learn how to fight fires. This is a five week course. When a ship gets attacked, we are going to be the ones that keep it afloat.
Pass this part and we graduate to phase two of Hull Technician School. Phase two is back in San Diego on the same base as boot camp. Phase two is ship maintenance. We are also responsible for the ships utilities. Plumbing, watertight doors, bulk heads (walls), welding, sludge pumps, etc. We are the ships maintenance man.
School is Monday through Friday. If we don’t have watch duty we are free to do whatever we want, on or off base after class. Tests are weekly on Friday. Fail one test and you’re terminated from the program. Failing means being reclassified as a boatswain’s mate. Nobody wants to be a boatswain’s mate. Boatswain’s mates are the ships janitors. It’s the bogey man threat in the navy.
We were assigned two class officers. This guy Brice is a second class petty officer. He acts like he is too good for us. He was an Electricians Mate. He is changing rates. The other guy is Barry. Barry is part of the navy’s program to give its trained killers a new rank. Barry is a Seal fresh from Viet Nam. Barry I like. He is sort of a redneck but he has a sense of humor, something that Brice lacks. Either way they are the officers in charge. Which is senseless because we are E-2s, everybody out ranks us. We don’t have to salute them. Only the commissioned officers. Anybody that has gold on their uniform gets a mandatory salute.
We had some classes then we went to the tear gas chambers. It was the same type concrete building, as the one in boot camp. This one was twice the size as the one in boot camp. As before we were gassed and made to wait. I wasn’t as effected as last time. Maybe I am getting used to it. Afterward we get an hour lunch break. After skipping breakfast I am starving. Later.
After lunch we went back to the gas chambers. They gave us a gas mask and a holder. The holder was sort of a holster for the mask. It had a waist belt. When we weren’t wearing the mask it was in the holster. We were instructed to dawn the mask when we couldn’t take the gas anymore. I was the fifth from the last out. I’m starting to scare myself.
We have to wear the gas masks to school for the next two weeks. At any time of the day, any instructor can and will yell “Mask!” We need to have the mask out of the holster. We have to get the masks over our head, and sealed air tight within eight seconds. Failure to do it in less than eight seconds means death. Gas or germs will kill us in eight seconds. We have to stay alive so we can save the ship. If we die then the ship is lost.
I could be sitting in class, paying attention to a lecture. Out of nowhere an instructor sticks his head in the classroom door. “Mask!” he yells. “Mask!” Or we are walking down a hall and one of them will pop his head out a door and yell. “Masks!” anywhere any time during school hours. If I don’t get the mask on in eight, it’s boot camp all over. The screaming and the yelling and the in the face, the spit with the words. “You’re dead, lad!”
“You killed the whole ship, lad! This is not a joke, lad!”
We aren’t called worms anymore. That’s for boot campers.
The mask is big and bulky. It has three rubber straps on the back. It has a large window face plate connected to a rubber hose that is connected to a canister. The holder or holster is a pouch maybe 10 inches wide and 12 inches long, the mask is slightly smaller. We wear it around our waists like gun slingers, at different heights on the hips. We each have ou
r preference.
The maneuver goes like this. “Mask!” I stand, I unsnap the pouch. I pull the mask out. At the same time I am expanding two back straps so the mask will smoothly slip over my head. Once the mask is over my head I pull the straps tight. To get an air tight fit around my face, I put the palm of my hand over the breathing hole of the canister, I plug it and breathe in. If the mask is sealed correctly it will exert pressure on my face. If it isn’t sealed right I am dead, and so is everybody else; so I’m told.
I was ordered to get a haircut. After school I found the base barber. I paid him five bucks to fuck up my hair. The master-at-arms liked it. I won’t do that again. At the bar on a military base anybody with a military ID can drink. I don’t have to be twenty one. After chow we are going to check it out. Later.
February 14, 1973, Wednesday
A couple of nights ago we went to the base night club. It was standing room only. The drinks were one dollar each, it took over an hour to get one. I was interested in meeting some women. The ratio was 1 woman to 20 men. Maybe some other time. We left and went down to the bay to get high. Later.
Classes the last two days consisted of watching old instructional navy movies. Some were the classic such as; “Don’t talk about what you do in front of strangers. Loose lips sink ship. We have secrets that the enemy wants.” Old films as in WWII old.
Some films were about damage control. Down in the hull of the ship in the underbelly, they have door hatches on the floor (deck). We should be careful not to fall through an open one. All the movies had bad actors.
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