Welcome to the Dance USN

by GEORGE LICATA

  Benny came back with nine hundred and twenty five dollars, minus cab fare. The first thing we did was have a party, then we paid next month’s rent. We kept four of the biggest abalones. I broiled them, we ate them with butter. I now know why they are expensive and highly sought after. They are so fucking good. We’re going back tomorrow. Later.

  July 4, 1973, Wednesday

  The fireworks were over at the bay behind the apartments. I went with the guys and Sherry. Troy and the witch left town without saying good bye. Benny entered a water skiing contest. We’re making a day of it. We have fried chicken with all the fixings. Sherry and I agreed if I wasn’t in this big mess then we surly would be dating. Later.

  Benny won the amateur water skiing contest. That’s a thousand dollars. I decide that I should try to turn myself in again. Who knows maybe this is what the rest of my life in the navy will be like. I turn myself in, I go home, then do it again.

  A thousand dollars, that sounds like a party to me. The guys talked me into waiting in till after the weekend to turn myself in. We went to a nice restaurant, we took Sherry. We tried to have a party at the apartment but it wasn’t the same. We didn’t know anybody at our own party. It was mostly boardwalk people. They heard there was free beer. Later.

  July 9, 1973, Monday

  Benny gave me one hundred dollars. He knew I haven’t had a pay check in months. He bought plane tickets for Jeff, Bob and himself, they were going home. The vacation was over. We tried to say good bye to Sherry. No one answered her door and we searched the beach for her, but couldn’t find her. She knows how I feel about her. I see good things in her future. The guys are taking a taxi to the airport, they will drop me off at the base. Later.

  I decided to go see the padre before I tried again. Getting the navy’s attention is harder than I think. I can usually do it without trying. Now that I’m trying they blow me off. It will be good to see the padre. I know the he is not going to be happy with me. What can he say? He is a navy chaplain, everybody goes to the chaplain to get out of the navy. I never wanted his help, I never asked. I was happy to hang around with him and his friends. We had discussions about the War and Nixon (He loves Nixon) and all kinds of other topics. Later.

  I was right he wasn’t too happy with me, but he was glad to see me, he was worried about me. I reminded him that he knew where I lived. He said he can’t help me or back me up in any way. He said, “George, are you sure you want to do this?”

  I said, “Padre, do what God pays you to do, pray for me.” I told him about my attempts to turn myself in. He said he already knew about them.

  The padre said, “This time I’ll personally walk you through the process.” He said, “A lot of people dropped the ball. If they had followed procedure then you would have never left the base the first time you turned yourself in.” He wants to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Padre wants me to take him to all the places that I went to.

  First we went to the Service School Command. Padre asked the petty officer if he remembered me. The petty officer said he did. Padre ordered the petty officer to follow him to the warren officer’s office, he ordered him to call the master chief and the chief. I stayed in the outer office.

  I could hear the yelling, however I could only make out some words. “Stop being so lazy!” “Do your job!” “It’s not somebody else’s problem. I’m making it your problem!” I heard lots of “Yes, sirs.” “Start the paperwork on Licata. I expect to see a copy on my desk tomorrow.” I heard a lot of “Aye ayes.”

  Next we went to the Contact Center. It was more of the same, in a back office. Before we left Padre said hi to Sylvia, he never involved her in the ass kicking. I think I got their attention this time. The last stop was the transit barracks and Chief Wascowski.

  He told Wascowski, “Come by my office tomorrow. I have a write-up for you personally to sign. Now get this sailor a bunk and locker!”

  Padre took me outside, he gave me fifty dollars. He knew I had my seabag swiped. He told me to go buy some work uniforms, because I’m going to need them. He said good luck George, There is nothing more I can do for you. I saluted him he laughed and saluted me back. I said thanks. He left I went inside to my next new home. Later.

  July 10, 1973, Tuesday

  After morning muster, I got put on a working party. We are cleaning out abandoned barracks. We make the human chain. One guy handing a thing to the next guy, all the way down the line. It makes for short and efficient work. We can clean a floor of clutter in hours. And then you have thirty or so guys cleaning and buffing, we can finish a building in less than a day.

  My bunk is on the third and top floor. I picked a wing that had the sun rise on one side and the sun set on the other side. My bunk was on the sun rise side, by the corner wall. This wing had the least amount of sailors. Most of the sailors here are in transit between stations and change of orders. The main floor is for confinement. The average stay up here is one week. Two weeks tops.

  The guys next to me are here for pending disciplinary action also. I can pick them without trying. Shaffer is from upstate New York. He has flaming red hair, he is blind with his glasses on.

  Pickle is a black guy from Colorado Springs. His face looks like a pickle. He has that quick wit sense of humor. He had me laughing in stitches last night.

  Colin is from Washington State. He’s more hippie than me. He lived on a commune out in the woods before he was drafted. Each one of them is trying to get out of this navy. We each have our own way to do it.

  Shaffer’s only sibling died recently. That makes him the sole survivor of his father’s linage. If you are the last and only child in your family, the government doesn’t want you to be killed. The government believes that a family linage should be carried on.

  The navy should have expedite a discharge. Shaffer has been here for six months. He should have never been drafted in the first place. In boot camp we get an eye examination. Shaffer was declared legally blind at that examine. No rate in the navy will touch him. He is too dangerous. He agrees, all he wants is to go home.

  Pickle is tired of being called nigger, jungle bunny and all the other derogatory names. Pickle is half black, half white. His skin is more on the darker side. He is good looking and funny. Pickle is a chick magnet. And he loves the women. The women in the navy are mostly white. I doesn’t matter all the girls like Pickle. Most white guys can’t stand it and most black guys can’t stand it either. He gets more than his share of hate, he’s tired of it.

  Colin has a bad skin problem. While he was living in the woods everything he came in contact with was natural. Here on the base his exposure has caused him bad skin problems. His skin is falling off and he is losing his hair in clumps.

  After work I’m going to get a haircut. I have been called out about the length of my hair, by every stripe I pass. Later.

  Wascowski had other ideas for me instead of a haircut. He decided that I should scrub and polish his office. He volunteered me for the job. By the time I was finished the hair stylist lady had closed shop. The chief reminded me that the base barbers were still open. He ordered me to go, now!

  Those ass holes are not going to fuck up my hair. I took the long way to the base barbers, it took two hours. I told the chief by the time I got there they were closed. I told him I took my time getting there. I said, “You ordered me to go get a haircut. You didn’t specify how to get there and when. Oh, and by the way, Chief, if you want to write me up, feel free to do so,” I said. “Tell you what, I’ll sign it now. You fill in the blanks at your convenience, okay? Give the chit to me. I know where to put my signature. You can write whatever you want on it later. Make it easy on yourself, Chief.”

  I don’t believe anybody has ever said to the chief what I just said. Right now I’m at my bunk. I bet he is still standing there, downstairs. Slowly rocking, staring forward, speechless. That’s how I left him. I said, “I’ll be around. Let me know what you decide.” I came up here. Later.

  I didn’t g
o to chow. I stick out like a hippie on a military base. Every chief wants a piece of me. I had the guys bring me something from the bowling alley. Later.

  July 11, 1973, Wednesday

  This morning I asked Wascowski if I could go get a haircut before I went on my work detail. He said nothing doing. I asked him if he had a chit for me to sign. He said he won’t play my game. What an idiot, this means if I keep my fuck ups at a low key, it’s easier to get away with it.

  After muster I was assigned to First-Class Petty Officer Rodriquez. We were going to do some landscaping. Fifteen of us got into the back of a navy cargo truck. The truck was on its way to the job. We were standing in the back of the truck.

  A black chauffeur driven limousine drove past us going the other way, it turned around and followed us. The limo driver honked his horn. We pulled over. The driver, a Second class petty officer got out of the limo, he walked over and had a talk with Rodriquez. When he said what he had to say, he got back in the limo and drove off. Rodriquez got out of the cab of the truck and walked back to us. “Licata get down. That was the captain. You’re ordered to report to the barbers to get a haircut. When you finish you are ordered to report to the captain at his headquarters. He spotted you with your hippie hair. He is not happy. You are dismissed Licata. Do you know where the captain’s headquarters are?” he asked.

  I laughed.

  I got down from the truck and headed off to the hair stylist. I told her that I needed a haircut that was regulation to the tee. It had to be perfect. We used a ruler. I thanked her and tipped her well. What the hell was that Rodriquez asking me, do I know where the captain is? I do and have known for a long time. I not only know where the captains office is, I know where to sit while I wait for him.

  I waited longer than usual. Finally I was called to the office. He was sitting behind his oversized desk. He had files and papers all over. I stood at attention and saluted. He said at ease Mr. Licata. He smiled at me and said, “I knew you were going to get the opportunity to tell me why a person from a landlocked state joins the navy.”

  I said, “Are you serious, sir?”

  He said, “Go on, enlighten me. I am curious, son.”

  I laid it all out. I didn’t hold back. I told him I was protesting the war the weekend before I was sworn in. I told him about my low draft number. I told him I wanted a peacoat. I told him why I didn’t belong here. I told him everything. He agreed.

  He asked why I keep showing up on his radar. I said it’s proof that the navy doesn’t want me. And if the navy was smart, they would realize it. I continued, “With all due respect sir you should cut your losses and send me home. That’s what I would do, with all due respect.” I waited for his response.

  He said, “Mr. Licata, I have never, in my life, meet someone with so much to lose. Be so damn honest.”

  I not sure if that’s good or bad. I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything. He broke the silence. “The base chaplain and some of the officers speak highly of you. I find that highly unusual. It borders on fraternization however it is a sign of the changing times.”

  “Mr. Licata, why do we keep having problems with the hairs that grow on your head? You were ordered to get a haircut. Why haven’t you complied with that order?” He said sternly. I was confused; I told him so. He said he can’t see where I got my hair cut. It was not a regulation haircut. “Sir, can you tell me what part of my hair cut is not regulation. The lady went to great lengths to get it right for your approval sir. If you have a ruler we can measure it.”

  His reply wasn’t what I expected. “You went to the base stylist. I see. I never liked the idea of having a civilian barber on the base. I don’t like the way she pushes the envelope. I don’t like your hair cut. I think it’s time to shut her down.” Wow. “Sir, don’t blame the lady. I was the one that told her how to cut my hair. She was just listening to my instructions, sir. I’ll march over to the base barbers and get it cut by them right now, sir. Just don’t blame the lady.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “See that you do, mister.” I saluted him. He didn’t salute, he said, “You’re dismissed.”

  I did my about-face and hurried to the butcher barbers. I wanted to end this quickly before he gets more time to think about closing her down. After I got my cut I hurried back to the captain’s office. My hair looked like I was in a cat fight and I lost.

  I checked in with the Warren officer at the front desk. He said the captain told him to take care of me. He looked at the wreck called my hair cut. He said, “That’s better, lad. You’re dismissed.”

  I decided not to join up with the work crew. I’m going back to the barracks, I’m changing into my civvies. I asked Wascowski if he wanted to write me up. He declined. I’m going to a movie. I think The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean is showing. Later.

  July 16, 1973, Monday

  I got my orders to day. My court-martial is the thirty-first of this month. I am charged with three counts of unauthorized absentee. From what information I can gather I’ll get thirty days hard labor. Humble Pie the rock group has a song out called Thirty Days in the Hole. It may become my theme song.

  I spent the money that I had. My pay has been diverted. I just sighed the paperwork to have it sent here.

  Today Pickle, Colin, Shaffer, and I were on the same work crew. Rodriquez had us rake the running track. It made a loop around the baseball field. We each had a rake. We each had three to four feet of track to rake. We made a line and walked back ward, around the track, raking.

  I came here before to smoke pot. I liked its location. Nobody seemed to use it. It was open. I could see somebody coming for at least three blocks. The nearest buildings were four or five blocks away.

  I happened to have a joint. I lit it up, we passed it between us. We finished the joint at the same time we finished raking the track. I took the last possible hit. It was a piece of nothing rolling paper. The pot was burned, only a piece of paper a quarter size of my finger nail on my little finger was left. To get rid of what little evidence there was, I raked it into our pile of dead leaves, trash, twigs and gravel.

  We were lighting up our cigarettes when we saw one jeep coming towards us from the south, one coming from the north and one coming at us from the west. We calmly sat down on the bleachers. We laughed, we smoked, and we laughed harder as they came roaring to us. They sure were in a hurry. We had nothing on us, they had nothing on us.

  They cornered us off. They parked the three jeeps ten feet in front of us. They quickly got out of the jeeps, six petty officer SPs with holstered guns. We sat there looking at them. I stood up and stepped on my cigarette, to put it out. “What’s up, man?” I asked. The ranking guy says. “You tell me.” I looked back at the guys and said, “See what happens when we take a break. They send in the troops.” We laughed, they didn’t. “Lads, I’m going to need you to step over to the jeep and empty your pockets.”

  We stepped over to the jeeps and emptied our pockets, we had nothing. “What’s this all about asked Pickle?” This guy tells us that someone reported four men smoking marijuana at this location. Do you know anything about that?” he asked.

  We said, “No!” We have no idea what he is talking about. Maybe someone mistook our cigarettes for a joint. He wasn’t buying any of it we were having too much fun. He wanted us to be afraid. He told us to gather up our things and get in the jeeps. He kept our IDs.

  We were driven to Shore Patrol headquarters. They had us wait in a small room. One by one they took us through a door. When they opened the door to this room I could see it was an office that had another exit door, a very large man sat at the desk. This man was dressed in a suit and tie. I never heard what was said in that office they shut the door as the SP escorted us in, one by one. I was the last to go in. The SP escort directed me to a chair that faced the large man. The SP sat on a chair by the wall.

  I faced the suited man. I knew right away that this guy was not in the military. His hair touched his ears and collar, he was
about thirty years old. “I am special agent Collins. I am with the FBI Mr. Licata I have been assigned to the navy to head up a task force. We are investigating and prosecuting illegal drug use by navy personnel.”

  He went on and on, He told me how it has become rampant. How he is personally going to squash it, how dangerous it is for national security, on and on. I interrupted him. “Why am I here?” I demanded. He stopped in mid-sentence. The SP paid attention. “What do you want with me?” I turned to the SP. I read his name tag. “First class Buford is it?” I asked him. He said yes that is my name. “You’re navy, I’m navy. This agent is civilian. Why am I talking to him?” I asked.

  He told me it was cooperation between the FBI and the navy. He told me to let the agent finish. I said I don’t have time for this, but I’ll do it for you Buford, I said. I turned back to the desk, carry on a special FBI guy, I said. I lit a cigarette, they also lit cigarettes.

  The FBI guy continued. “Perhaps you don’t understand the gravity of what is going on here Licata. Your friends have already confessed to smoking marijuana. They indicated that you also smoked marijuana. I have other wittiness. You may think this is a joke, Let me assure that it is not. You have two choices Mr. Licata you can confess and make it easier on yourself.” He hesitated, he took a long drag off his cigarette and stared me down.

  I said, “Tell me, Mr. Special Agent. What’s my other choice?” He took another long drag, he blew the smoke at me. I didn’t blink, I stared back at him. “Your other choice, Mr. Licata is going to a federal jail.”

  I took the last hit on my cigarette. The ash tray was on his desk. I stood up and butted my cigarette. “Mr. Agent you skipped my other choice. That choice is what this institution represents. Do you know what we swear to do when we become sailors, Mr. Special agent?” He was looking agitated. He tried to interrupt me by attempting to stand up, I wouldn’t let him. I told him I listened to you, you sure as fuck can listen to my answer. He sat back down, I continued. “I’ll tell you what we swear to do before we start boot camp.” Buford was getting interested he was on the edge of his chair. “We swear to defend the Constitution of the United States of America. For you and your family, for all Americans, me included. A part of that Constitution says that you can’t be detain for no reason. And you’re threating me with no evidence.”