by Jeff Noonan
About halfway through the ship’s stand-down period, I was called to meet with the Gunnery Officer, Lieutenant Dun, in the wardroom. I was a bit apprehensive as I made my way to the meeting. I’d heard of other sailors that had gone to such meetings and had come away very chastened. I couldn’t think of anything that I had done wrong (unless they knew the address where I stayed in San Francisco). But the fact that I was going to the wardroom was, in my mind, significant enough that I still remember the entire meeting after all these years.
When I entered the wardroom, hat in hand, I looked around in amazement. The wardroom was small, but to me it was magnificent with its tablecloths and framed pictures on the wall. Compared to what I was used to, it was opulent.
I was greeted by Lieutenant Dun and an ensign named Grant, with whom I had stood several quarterdeck watches. There were also two chief petty officers there. One of them, the chief electrician on the ship had also been on watches with me. I knew that he and had been watching me work a bit. I didn’t know the other chief nearly as well. I knew that he was the ship’s chief fire control technician, but I wasn’t really sure what that meant.
Lieutenant Dun got right to the point. He said “Noonan, we’ve been watching you for the past few months, and you’ve been doing an exceptional job.” I am sure that my mouth must have gaped open, because he smiled and said “Relax, Noonan. We aren’t going to bite you.”
My knees were shaking, but I managed to smile and move from attention to parade rest.
He went on, “We think that you have the potential to move from the deck force to another job. Are you interested?”
In a flash, I remembered Bob Lawler telling me to take a deep breath and think first when an officer asked a question. “Never reply too fast,” he had told me, “because that’s how you stick your foot in your mouth.” So I took a long moment and then replied, “I think so, Sir. What do you have in mind?”
Apparently my measured response surprised the Lieutenant. He looked at me sharply and asked, “Does it really matter?” Again I thought for a minute and then replied, “Yes Sir, it does. I plan to make the Navy my career and I don’t want to have a job that I hate for the next twenty or thirty years.”
That set all of them back and there was an awkward pause while they all looked at one another. Finally, the Chief Electrician spoke up, “What would you think about becoming an electrician’s mate, Son?”
I had actually thought about this possibility a bit after I had seen him watching me, so I knew my answer, “I’m sorry, Chief. I know that this is a real opportunity. But your people work on the generators and stuff down below decks. I’m too used to working up where the air is fresh. I’d go crazy down in those holes. I really appreciate your offer, but I just can’t take it.”
The Chief looked at me and, after a long moment, grinned. He said “Damn it! I wish you were wrong. But I’ve hated those holes for fourteen years now and I don’t blame you.” With that he excused himself to the Lieutenant, shook my hand, and left the wardroom.
Lieutenant Dun took control of the meeting again. He said, “Well Noonan, there’s only one more opening right now on the ship. It’s with Chief Evans and the fire control technicians.” He turned to the remaining chief and asked “Chief, are you still interested?”
The chief, who was a small man with a weathered, but kindly, face didn’t hesitate, “Yes Sir. I’m more interested now than I was when we came in here.” He looked at me and said, “What do you think, Noonan? Want to give us a try?”
Again, I thought about it. I knew that the fire control technicians (FTs) had something to do with the firing of the guns and that they worked with electronics, but that was all that I could remember about them. So I replied, “Chief, I really don’t know anything about your crew or their job. From the little that I remember, it sounds good. But I’m really not sure. Do you need an answer right now?”
This time, I think that I had stalled one time too many. The Lieutenant snapped at me “Make a decision, Noonan. This job is in my department, and I don’t have time to waste on it. It’s the only job still available and I plan to fill it today. If you don’t take it, another sailor will.”
I knew I had played my last card, so I grinned and said, “In that case, Sir, I guess I’m now a fresh-caught apprentice FT. Thank you for the opportunity.” I got a big laugh on that. We shook hands all around and Lieutenant Dun left us.
Ensign Grant was going to be my new division officer, and Chief Evans was my new boss. They told me to relax and sit down. Then they talked to me for about an hour about the new job, my new Division, and all of the things that my new opportunity entailed.
I was about as confused as a young sailor could be, but I held it together and pretended that I understood everything they were telling me. The one thing that stood out for me was that I was going to be assigned to the ship’s Fox Division, which was comprised of all of the ships fire control technicians, sonarmen, and torpedomen. I knew that this meant that I was going to be in the same Division with Bob Lawler, and I knew that he would help me understand the things that had me confused. So I nodded wisely and pretended that I knew what they were talking about. We then broke up and I left with the Chief to take care of the paperwork, meet my new coworkers, and move my things to my new living space.
I had one pleasant surprise while I was emptying my old locker. Bos’n Cowell found me and shook my hand. His comment was “Congratulations, Kid. You earned this. Keep working like you have been and you’ll do great wherever you go.”
That was the only compliment that I ever heard Cowell give anyone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Opportunity and Responsibility
I moved my belongings over to my new sleeping area and, literally, began a new life. I already had one friend in Fox Division, Bob Lawler, and I soon made several others. One that stands out in my mind was a sonar technician named Fred Ross. He was an orphan from St. Louis that had joined the Navy as soon as he was old enough. I think that somehow my shipboard friends tended to be men who had seen rough times growing up, like Bob and Fred. Bob, Fred, and I became almost inseparable friends. There were others as well. I seemed to fit in better with this group than I ever had with the deck force.
My new work assignment came as a real shock. Chief Evans took me around to see all of the Fire Control work areas and gave me a cursory explanation of each of them. There were four Fire Control Systems aboard Cogswell. They were all older systems that had been developed to fight aircraft during the Second World War. The two larger systems each had a second class petty officer in charge of them, supported by a small staff of technicians. These systems controlled the four five-inch gun mounts and the after set of three inch guns. There were also two smaller systems that each controlled one of the amidships three-inch guns. Each system consisted of a radar set, a (mechanical) computer, an electromechanical director that physically tracked the targets, and the electronic and electromechanical equipment that drove the guns to their assigned aiming points.
I will never forget seeing my first Fire Control Computer that morning. It was a steel monster, about four feet high and three feet square with little hand-cranks and dials covering the top and part of the sides. It was known as the Mark 1-A Computer and it was entirely mechanical except for some electrical units that transmitted orders to the guns. It was part of the five-inch gunnery system that was used for shore bombardment. (It scared the heck out of me. Luckily, I never did have to work with it.)
The Chief spent the morning with me, showing me the two bigger systems first. Then he took me to the first of the smaller systems and introduced me to the technician who was in charge of it. He was just a seaman like me, but he had been through a thirty-two-week basics course for fire control technicians followed by another twelve weeks of school on this particular Fire Control System. He had just come aboard after going through the schools. His name was Rick, and he was working in the starboard radar room when the Chief introduced us. The Chief told
him that I would be working on the port system. Rick and I both assumed that I would be working for Rick, since he had all the schooling. Rick made a comment along those lines, but the Chief floored Rick and scared the crap out of me by announcing; “No, Rick. I’m going to try a bit of competition here. Noonan’s gonna be in charge of the port system. You’ll be in charge of this system. You both report to me. It’ll be up to the two of you to show me what you can do.”
I had not even been in the rooms where my new system was located! I was suddenly terrified!
Chief Evans then took me to the port radar room and sat me down. He told me that he knew that he was asking a lot of me, but, as he put it, “If I put Rick in charge of you, he’ll just have you cleaning and painting while he tinkers with the system. You won’t learn a thing. So I’m throwing you into the frying pan. I expect you to read the technical manuals, learn the system, and maintain it. When you get stumped, just ask me for help. But don’t give up. I didn’t take you off the deck force so that you could be a cleaner and painter. I think you can do better, and I’m going to insist that you do. Now let’s get started.”
Then he got a mischievous look on his weathered face, smiled, leaned close to me and said, “Besides, I’m from Bigfork, Montana, Son.”
The Chief spent the rest of the day and a few hours on subsequent days, getting me familiar with the system and the associated documentation. Then, as the days went on, he faded back more and more and I began working on my own. The technical manuals on the system took up an entire four-foot shelf in the radar room, and I set about memorizing them. I would study a part of the system while I had the equipment open and could touch its parts. I seemed to be able to grasp it better if I had the books and the equipment both in front of me.
Thanks to Dad’s old radio and TV repair course that I had studied at home, I found that I could actually understand a lot of the electronic concepts. But, although I was getting the electronics, I ran into problems learning some of the electromechanical and mechanical elements of the systems. Things like synchros, servos, gyros, lead-computing gunsights, and mechanical computing gears were totally foreign to me. But, by the time that I encountered them, I had become friends with some of the other fire control technicians. One in particular, a third class petty officer from Georgia named Robbie, came through for me in a big way, holding a little class for me whenever I hit a snag. Robbie was a lifesaver. I could have asked the Chief for help, but I just didn’t feel right bothering him. Rick, the guy in charge of the Starboard System, seemed to consider me to be his competition, so there was no help there. Robbie was a friend when I needed it. My sonar friend, Fred, was also helpful whenever he could be.
So life went on. Once again, I was studying as if my life depended on it; and, in a way, it did. I ordered correspondence courses in electricity, electronics, and the required courses needed for advancement to petty officer. I never got ashore again before we deployed.
When I wasn’t studying, I was working on my system. Rick must have really hated me, because my system was always spotless and freshly painted. I knew how to do that, so I did it to the max. Poor Rick had to keep up or he would have looked bad. Fortunately, I didn’t run into any system problems that I couldn’t fix, so things were going well.
The ship got underway for a six-month cruise to the Far East in August 1959. I was so wrapped up in my studies that I hardly noticed the change. Sure, the ship was moving and I had to stand watches, but my life was in my studies. I spent every possible waking moment in my radar room, studying. I’m not sure what drove me, but there is absolutely no doubt that this was a major step towards the escape that Mom and I had discussed so often.
About a week later, we pulled in to Pearl Harbor. We stood at attention, manning the rails, and saluted as we passed the Arizona Memorial. I have to admit, I was very excited. This was the most exotic place that I had ever been. The more experienced sailors were pretty harsh in their comments about Hawaii in general, but I was enthralled.
That afternoon a group of us went ashore. Since no enlisted people were allowed to have civilian clothes aboard ship in those days, we were all in our dress white uniforms. All of us were new to the Island, and we were all under Hawaii’s legal drinking age of twenty. We caught a cab and headed for Waikiki, not really knowing what to expect. Needless to say, we were very disappointed. Once we arrived at Waikiki, we walked for miles and saw the sights and bought some souvenirs. But basically, it was no more exciting than being in San Diego.
Fred and I devised a plan that we thought would help. We drifted off from the others and bought a small overnight bag. Then we each invested in a pair of khakis, a Hawaiian shirt, and a swim suit. We went into a hotel bathroom and changed into the swim suits, putting our uniforms in the overnight bag. We then went swimming on Waikiki. It was great, though both of us ended up with vicious sunburns.
When we had enough of the beach, we put the new “civvies” on and walked around some more. We had assumed that we would be able to strike up conversations if we were out of uniform. It didn’t work. Finally, in the early evening, we gave up and changed back to our uniforms and caught a cab back to the ship. We snuck the civvies aboard in the overnight bag and hid them under the false floor in my radar room. They stayed there for months.
I gave up on Hawaii for the time being and went back to my work/study routine. Work and study, work and study, work and study! I was absolutely obsessed with my work and my studies. I had a single focus that shut out everything else in my life for a time.
I had worked on the railroad; I had worked in lumber mills; I had worked as a handyman; I had worked on ranches; I had been in the Army; and I had worked on the deck force. I knew that I didn’t want to do any of these things again. In my mind, the opportunity to work on this little system was my chance at a new life. Yes, I was obsessed. I was eighteen years old and I was at one of the most important crossroads of my life—and I knew it!
CHAPTER NINE
Bob, Will You Make Me a Virgin?
After a few days in Pearl Harbor, we got underway again and began the long transit to the Western Pacific. Our first stop was Guam, where we only stayed long enough to refuel and take on supplies before departing enroute to the Philippines.
The underway periods were now more intense. We were headed into a part of the world that was volatile in the late 1950s. The Philippines were friendly, but they were just a stop on the way to Formosa, Southeast Asia, Korea, and many places where Communism was challenging the Free World, so we drilled pretty much all day, every day.
My new General Quarters (GQ) Station was in my radar room, operating my fire control system. This was a job that I very soon mastered and whenever the ship went to GQ, I could get in even more studying.
By the time we crossed the Pacific and arrived in the Philippines, I had successfully completed four correspondence courses and almost memorized the technical manuals for my system. It was a good thing that I had accomplished so much, because the Philippines proved very distracting to this young sailor.
All during the transit, we had been hearing “Sea Stories” from the older sailors about what we would find when we reached Subic Bay, in the Republic of the Philippines. The stories all involved girls, beer, and more girls. The sailors loved Subic Bay, but the Command was not so optimistic. Before we got there, we all had to go through indoctrination on every venereal disease known to the human race. We watched more training films on the dangers of sex than I knew existed.
By the time that the first islands showed on the horizon, we “newbies” were both enthralled and scared silly. But we were all young men, so naturally the enthralled part far outweighed the scared part.
Subic Bay proved to be everything that Honolulu had not been. As the ship made its way through the bay to the Naval Base, we passed by several small fishing boats. The men in the boats were all friendly and shouts of “Hey Joe” came regularly from them, accompanied by hearty and friendly waves. The Philippines had not yet for
gotten the GIs from World War II. Many of these fishermen had fought alongside the Americans and watched our men die for their country. They still remembered.
In 1959, Subic Bay was every sailor’s favorite port and we were very excited to finally be there. We tied the ship up in the afternoon and, as soon as the housekeeping chores were done, the ship granted Liberty. Everyone that could get off the ship did; heading for town on “Cinderella Liberty.” (It was called this because we had to be back on the Naval Station by midnight and aboard ship before 12:30 a.m. This was standard in those days anywhere in the Orient. It was also mandatory that we wear our uniforms exclusively. Only officers were allowed to wear “civvies” overseas.)
I wanted to go ashore with someone who had been there before, so I made sure that I was with Bob Lawler. Fred Ross and a couple of other guys came along with us. We made a stop on the base to change our dollars for Philippine Pesos. Then we walked to the main gate of the Naval Base, passed through a checkpoint manned by Marines, and made our way into the small city of Olongapo. As soon as we passed through the gate, we found ourselves walking over a bridge that crossed a small river.
“Shit River,” Bob exclaimed loudly. “I don’t believe it, but even this smells good to me!”
Believe me, Bob was the only one with this sentiment. The river was obviously an open sewer, and it smelled like it.
Now, I don’t want to give anyone the idea that this shocked me—it didn’t. In those days, the idea of using a river as a substitute for a sewer wasn’t unusual. In fact, the biggest river in my hometown, the Clark Fork River, wasn’t much better than “Shit River.” If a St. Regis resident was lucky enough to live close to the river, they simply ran their sewer lines directly from the toilets into the river. I still remember joking about the toilet paper and “Brown Trout” that floated by when we were fishing there.