We were “Masked” over two dozen times today. I can now mask up in five seconds. Four more weeks of this. It is already annoying.
We did go to the concrete buildings to get instructions on things like opening a door that has a fire behind it (from the opposite side of the hinges). Checking a bulk head (wall) for heat (with the back of your hand). All the stuff we get tested on Friday. Later.
February 16, 1973, Friday
I took my test. I think I passed. I hope the guys did too. It wasn’t hard. One of the instructors told me that this course in the civilian world would be a six month course. They cram it down to four weeks. We should be grateful he said. I said my juries out on that observation. It seems to me that when it comes to saving lives the more time to learn the better. He said Hell lad you miss the point. You’re not here to save lives you here to learn how to save the ship. The ship is worth more than you lad. Having heard that I think I’m surly going to die.
Yesterday we sat on some bleachers and watched the instructors demonstrate how different metals burn and blow up. I think it was so those guys could play with explosives.
Then we saw this stunning movie. Deep down in the bowels of the ship is the hull. It traps sludge, oil, fluids of all manner, waste and sea water. All the spills and crap that gravity pulls down to the lowest part of the ship. From time to time the mixture creates an odorless deadly gas. They made a film for us about the dangers of odorless gas.
They get these two bad actors. John and Chuck are standing over an open deck hatch. They are on a routine hull inspection. John wants to go right down quickly look around and get out of there. He has a date with Cindy Lou to night, and Cindy Lou gets mad if he is late. Chuck tells John that the area needs to be vented for two hours before they go down.
Shucks says John I don’t want to keep Cindy Lou waiting couldn’t we just skip venting this one time. I don’t know the chief was pretty serious about following procedures said Chuck reluctantly. Come on Chuck we have never found anything, never, please. Do it this one time. Pleads John. Ok, Chuck gave in.
In the movie John goes down the hatch. After a silent period Chuck yells out for John. John does not respond. Chuck yells a few more times, still no response. Chucks realizes that John may have been effected by the odorless’ gas. John is over come with grief. Bad acting all around.
Then you can hear somebody off camera yell “Cut!” The scene was finished but the cameras were still rolling. Chuck stands up, he runs his hand through his hair. He was looking down the hatch waiting for John to come up. Suddenly he had a look of terror on his face, he wasn’t acting. “Oh my god!” He yelled, “Bob!” he screams down the hatch. He himself starts down the hatch. Off camera you can hear people screaming. Bill! No don’t go down there. Stay up here we’ll get help. Too late, Bill disappears down the hatch. The camera catches men running past it, towards the hatch in a panic. They look down the hatch with stricken expressions. Get help! Call the captain! One of the men yells. Someone turn off the camera!
The scene goes to black. Moments later a written explanation scrolls down the film. “What you have seen was real; the original intent of this movie was to show the dangers of odorless gas and the need to take it seriously. The two sailor actors in the movie that you just saw were tragically killed in the filming of this movie. Unfortunately below the open hatch lurked the deadly gas. The department of the navy decided this film can be viewed by military personnel only. Civilian viewing is strictly forbidden. The department of the navy decided to show this movie in its uncut entirety. We can’t stress enough about the dangers that can occur on a navy vessel and we believe that the events that took place in this movie depict that danger to its full extent.”
The film ended and someone yelled Mask! Half of the class was still stunned. Half of the class was bluntly brought back to reality. I got my mask on in time. But I’m sure we are all going to die.
Four of us have tickets to see The J. Giles band at the Fillmore West in San Francisco. Saul, Moe, Garza and I. We will spend the weekend at the Fairmont Hotel. Later.
February 18, 1973, Sunday
Okie had guard duty, Peter had relatives visiting. They both missed a great weekend. We scored some acid on the base before we headed to San Francisco. I would never try buying it in the city. Dirtbag hippies’ are everywhere. Their main prey is us, desperate military guys looking to get high. What they don’t know is the military drug dealers have more hard drugs than they do. Small tabs of acid are easy to conceal. Ours are real, theirs are fake.
What is hard to find on the base is pot. It smells and is harder to conceal. I can tell if pot is pot by looking at it. However we do find a lot of hash on base. I was told that this is the smoke of choice and abundance in Europe. A source of ports for navy vessels. Navy personnel don’t pass through customs. We police ourselves.
The point is this; we had a blowout weekend. It is Sunday night, I am still coming down. The J. Giles band was great. The lead singer was flying around on stage. He was wearing a shirt with a sparkling large dollar sign on the front.
More so than usual at the concert we get harassed by rude hippies’. Sometimes we do find some long hairs that do sympathize with us, they know that most of us didn’t ask to be here.
Rambling Jack Eliot opened for The J. Giles band. This guy is from the Woody Guthrie era. He should be a national treasure. One of the lines in one of his songs goes like this. “Did you ever stand and quiver, because you were looking at a river.” I can understand the looks we get at times. I have to face it. I am the opposite of what this Rambling Jack’s message represents. He sings songs of peace and love. My short hair represents war and baby killing. Later.
February 19, 1973, Monday
It was George Washington’s Birthday, a holiday. We are behind in school, so we have class. The morning classes were devoted to movies about fighting fires. And instructors getting their jolly’s off yelling “Mask!” They thought it was funny to make us do it twice in a row. If that wasn’t funny enough they thought three times in a row would be funnier.
The good about this part of the navy is, after hours we are all more equal. By “we,” I mean the noncommissioned officers and us. On duty, any sailor that has a higher rank than you can boss you around, for any reason. Off duty unless you are an officer we are on more even ground. What the chief thinks is funny in class I can’t comment on, during the working hours. What I think of the chief at the club I can comment about, during off hours.
At the mess hall I told a group of our instructors not to quit their day jobs. The “Mask’ gag is old. Most of them got the joke, the old ones didn’t. Master Chief Blaine, I could tell by his icy stare that he didn’t appreciate the joke. And since he is the ranking instructor I’m sure I will be sorry. Open mouth insert foot disease. Later.
The master chief didn’t waste any time, he rode me all afternoon. We went to some buildings that they intended to light on fire. They want us to douse the fire. Chief would say things like “Is that funny enough for you, Licata?”
“If I quit my day job, who would be here to keep you alive, Licata?”
“It doesn’t look like you’re paying attention, Licata. Shall I go slower so your feeble mind gets it?” The Chief threw this stuff at me all afternoon.
We were at a warehouse type structure. It was one story high. It was made of concrete. It had four wide doors on each side. Inside was a series of walkways made of metal grids. The metal walkways are set above the floor one foot high. Each entrance was connected to a metal walkway. Each walkway was about five feet wide. Each walkway had railings on both sides. The four walkways connected in the middle, at a twenty foot wide round grid.
The instructors were going to flood the floor of the warehouse with six inches of water. The instructors would then add some diesel fuel. The instructors would ignite that fuel. The instructors would escort us inside and we would douse the fire, with water, simple, right?
To douse this fire we attacked it from four sides with wat
er hoses. They showed us how to smother a fire, using a sweeping motion of pressured mist. Two teams at each door. The first team is made up of three sailors. One guy takes the nozzle, the next guy steadies the hose, and the third guy pulls the hose along so the team can keep attacking in a smooth motion. The second team has a fog nozzle. It is a pipe going up and hooking down at the top. It resembles an inverted snorkel. It sprays a steady mist of water over the team to keep them from burning. A dome of misty water. This team is also three men. The first man holds the spray up over the first team, the second man to steadies the hose, the third man pulls the hose behind them.
The theory is to smother the fire, deprive it of the oxygen it needs to burn. We attack it from the four doors. We sweep the fire keeping it in front of us. Always in front, if it sweeps behind us we will be engulfed by the flames below us. The four teams, each with an instructor. We sweep the burning air in front of us from floor to ceiling. We keep pushing the flames forward until we meet up in the center. With the high pressure spray we suck the oxygen from the fire. Bam O, it’s out. I love this stuff. I always thought water makes a gas fire bigger. I can’t wait to do this firefighting thing again. Later.
February 20, 1973, Tuesday
The master chief picked up on me where he left off yesterday. One of the other Chiefs told me to not worry about it. He gets this way, he’ll forget about it after a while. And go on to some other poor bastard, he said. I hope so, it’s getting old.
We spent the entire day getting instructed on firefighting methods. The master chief decided that he wasn’t getting any traction from me. I act like he isn’t there. This pissed him off even more. The whole class is watching this battle of the wills. He stood at my side and gave a command directing only me to mask up. “Class, stand down! Licata, mask!” As I was masking at lightning speed. I said to the class, “Goodbye, it was nice knowing you. You’re all dead.” I got a few laughs, that’s all it took. He was storming mad. He couldn’t do anything because I didn’t do anything unlawful. Smart ass remarks can only be punished by a commissioned officer. The master chief stormed away. The other chief said, “That’s one way to get him off your ass. Not a method I would have used.” I like Chief Mann’s humor. Later.
February 21, 1973, Wednesday
It is late in the evening, I am waiting for the guys to get ready. We are headed to the bar by way of the bay, for some herb smoking first. All the gays are in need of some alcohol to calm their nerves, after fighting fires. I was in need of a good shower to wash off the burnt grit on my body, it felt good. I’m stoked for tomorrow.
We fought fires again today. We had to take all positions on the hose. Before lunch each of us had fought at least six fires. We are 32 men, eight men sit out during a drill. Some of us get to fight more than six fires. It is smoky, it is hot, it is dangerous, it is real, and I love it. I like the nozzle position the best. We walked to lunch as a group, students and teachers. We were working together as a team. At that moment we moved as a team. Smoke blackened men. We were in our firefighting gear. It was a badge. We had to do more drills after lunch.
The chief’s sat at a table together as usual. The black guys sat together as usual. The other races and the white guys sat together as usual. I was sitting with Moe, Okie, Saul, Peter and Garza as usual. A black, a redneck, a Jew, a west coast surfer, an east coast Mexican and me.
A couple other guys were also at our table. One guy we call rich Jerry. Rich Jerry could have bought his way out of this war easily. His family had the political influence to make it happen. He was a dork. He had the ugliest reddish brown curly hair I have ever seen. His face was pocked marked with zits. I think he joined the navy because he needed somebody to hang out with. We feel sorry for him. We never invite him, but we never told him or anybody else to go away. If we were off for a secret smoke we did invite him, when he had the pot. I could tolerate him because he laughed at anything. All that firefighting made me fucking hungry. Thank God for seconds.
In the morning we could pick teams amongst ourselves. This afternoon the chief picked the teams for us. I was with other sailors from the class and idiot Brice. This guy acts like he isn’t part of us. He demands more respect than he deserves, as a dick.
Our instructor was the master chief. We were allowed to decide among us what position we were to take up on the hose. I said I will take the point nozzle. The rest of the team seems ok with it. Brice being the only petty officer was obliged to take a lead position. He takes up the lead on the fogger.
We wait outside the doors while the diesel fuel is being added. After smelling diesel smoke all day I thought I was immune to the aroma. This time it smelled like they over did it. “Chief?” I said does that smell like a lot of diesel?” He looks down at me from his six foot three frame and says. “No, but I smell chicken.” I shook my head and turned back to the doorway awaiting the ignition. Va loom Pa! That’s what the fire sounded like when it ignited. Flames blew out the door in front of us. We ducked, they licked over our heads. “I smell burnt chicken,” I said to the master chief who was just standing up. I could hear the loud horn signaling to enter. I pulled back the lever on the high pressure hose, it hit the fire head on. I started the sweep motion and entered the door. We were all in now. All the fires before this were about waist to head high. This one was floor to ceiling.
The first four or five feet went ok, we had about twenty feet left to go. The fire was too thick to see if other crews entered. I was able to make out motion of other crews in front of me prior to this fire. I could only sweep my end and hope they did enter.
I sweep up. I sweep down. I sweep to the sides. Always keeping the flames in front of us. It took a while but we finally got close to the circle grid in the center. I could see the other three teams now, on the other side of the grid. We all were working triple time to get control of this massive fire. The instructor was silent he was letting me do my thing. I could feel that he was as focused as I was.
I was pulling on the hose to move forward. I wasn’t getting any help. The two guys behind me were locked in fear. One of the other teams in front of us had lost the sweep and let the fire start up behind them. We waited for their fog team to do their job. If they are fearless and steady the nozzle man can regain control. My hose guys were watching that scenario unfold, they were stunned. They lost focus on our job.
I tugged forward they pulled back. That pull threw off my sweep, this allowed our part of the blaze to flow back up under us. Brice the fog man ran out the door with the fog team. Within one second the four of us were engulfed in flames. Within one second I was sweeping the four of us with the hose. I pushed the lever on the nozzle forward to make it more of a heavy rain. I pointed the spray to the ceiling. The force of water bouncing off the ceiling and the heavy mist it created drenched us, it kept the flames away. It was a bubble of water. We walked out of the building as quickly as the bubble of water would allow us. We were soaked, but we were safe. The other teams gave up and safely backed out also. They were safe they had their fog team to assist.
The first person to face the wrath of the master chief was Brice. He told him he was the worst kind of chicken shit. The kind that almost got the chief killed. We were expendable he wasn’t. Brice’s ass kicking went on the longest. Other recipients of a tongue lashing were the idiots who added to much diesel fuel. Another was the dope that gave the signal that it was safe to enter.
After he made the rounds. He circled back to me and the nozzle teams. He wanted to know if we were all right. The other nozzle teams had gathered around my team to find out what happened. We were still coughing and wheezing. We looked like we came out of hell. We were alright, wet but not burned. The souls of my feet were a bit warm, other than that I was ok. It was a rush.
I was sitting on the ground I had drinking water and cigarettes. Before he stormed away, the master chief hovered over me. “Good job, lad.” He turned and stormed off to do some more ass kicking to the two meatheads that froze and pulled the hose
back with Brice. They let the flames in the building burn out, they burned for hours. Later in the day we could see them from our dormitory. They called it a day.
I think we’re ready to go cop a buzz. Later.
February 23, 1973, Friday
We spent yesterday hashing out the near disaster. The chiefs spent a lot of time stressing the importance of covering your mates’ back. We would have reached our objective if my fog team hadn’t run out of the building. If Brice and his men had held their ground, we could have controlled the fire. The proper move for Brice and his fog team was to lower his hose to head level. Thus giving the fire very little oxygen to burn. My nozzle team could have swept behind the fire and either doused it then or brought it back to the flames in front of me. This maneuver needed to happen quickly and as a team. They also stressed to my hose team that pulling back when the nozzle man is pulling forward is a big no, no.
Barry was the nozzle man on the team that started to lose control, before we lost control. Peter was the leader of the fog team. Peter did what he was taught to do. Barry did what he was taught to do. The two of them did it as a team, fast and efficiently. It worked they brought the fire back out in front of them to continue working the huge flame to the middle, where we could together as a team snuff it out.
After the long lecture we took our weekly test. It’s lunch time. We can stop with the instant masking. The chiefs think we are proficient. Later.
In spite of Brice’s less than heroic deeds this week, He is one of only three petty officers in class. Last week rich Jerry got his first stripes. Third-Class Petty Officer Jerry and Second-Class Petty Officer Barry join Second Class Brice. This puts them in charge of our adventure next week.
The thing about the navy is you can fuck up over and over. If you retain your rank it doesn’t matter. A fuck up never gets fired. It’s all about the stripes. They couldn’t possibly put someone more competent with fewer stripes in charge of some dimwit with more strips. Stripes trumps smarts in this man’s navy. And gold trumps stripes. I told you we are all going to die.
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