Troubled Water

by Gregory A. Freeman

  The captain did not realize that the segregated berthing was contributing to the growing racial tension on the ship, further isolating the black sailors from the larger community and enabling disgruntled crew members to feed off of one another’s anger. The gripe sessions that Cloud heard of were common occurrences in the all-black berthing areas. Contrary to his hopes, they were not always harmless exercises in blowing off steam. These segregated living spaces encouraged the polarization of the black crew members, playing into the idea that they were not truly accepted and treated as equals. The all-black groupings also fed the paranoia and often-misplaced sense of brotherhood among black sailors. The grievance of one black man— whether real, exaggerated, or completely imagined—became the grievance of many as he told and retold the story to his buddies. The men often complained about the captain’s mast, the disciplinary hearings on board the Kitty Hawk when a sailor was accused of breaking any rules—coming back from shore leave late, being out of uniform, disrespecting an officer, failing to report to duty on time, possession of drugs, any of the many ways a sailor could get in trouble. In a scene that went back hundreds of years to the earliest sailing ships, the offender was required to stand before the captain and hear his punishment. The sailor did not appear before the captain until first having gone through a series of investigations, preliminary hearings, a review by the XO, and being apprised of his rights. It was, in all respects, a criminal court proceeding at sea.

  Black sailors felt they received harsher punishment for infractions than whites, an impression that was at least partly true, because Navy rules required the captain to consider a sailor’s past disciplinary record—civilian as well as naval—when determining a suitable punishment. The result was that some black sailors went before the captain with a strike against them already, and many would say that was only because the civilian justice system had treated them more harshly than their white counterparts. Those watching the mast didn’t realize what the captain had to base his decisions on; they only saw some blacks being punished more severely than whites. The public nature of captain’s mast was, in fact, part of the problem. Townsend continued the previous captain’s policy of airing captain’s mast on the ship-wide television network, meaning every sailor with a few minutes of free time could watch friends and strangers being chastised for misbehavior—and many found captain’s mast to be far more entertaining than sitcoms and movies. It was all a very public way of dealing with what Townsend really thought should be handled privately and with more dignity, but as with the segregated berthing, he didn’t want to change policies on the Kitty Hawk too quickly. The previous captain had told Townsend the practice promoted a sense of openness, enabling everyone to see justice happen. There also was the deterrent effect, of course, of seeing your friends go through captain’s mast and not wanting to be in their place.

  For much of the crew, however, the public display of the captain’s mast had a different effect. Pettus, the black sailor from western Kentucky, sensed the bitterness about the captain’s mast as soon as he joined the ship. Chris Mason, the white sailor from Alabama, also sensed that many viewed parading defendants in front of their ship mates as degrading; blacks reacted especially negatively to seeing black sailors standing in front of the white captain for a dressing down over what was usually a minor infraction. As with some other sources of contention on the Kitty Hawk, the black sailors saw discrimination and the continuation of age-old racist practices where whites saw a straightforward and sometimes entertaining judicial proceeding.

  Terry Avinger and Pettus both had firsthand experience with the captain’s mast, and their incidents fueled the fire that was growing on the Kitty Hawk. On June 8, 1972, Avinger was among a group of black sailors who assaulted J. L. Finley, a white sailor who was passing through their berthing area. It began with what seemed petty harassment— throwing a fistful of popcorn kernels at the man’s face—but soon Finley was chased and attacked by fifteen or twenty black sailors. Punches and a trash can were thrown, then Finley was tossed down an escalator. The next day, Avinger and another black sailor, Melvin J. Newson, went before the captain’s mast, accused of leading the assault on Finley. Newson was sentenced to a period of correctional custody, during which time he was allowed to pursue training as a barber. Avinger pleaded not guilty and was sentenced to three days in the brig on bread and water—not the harshest sentence Townsend could have imposed, but one many blacks considered excessive and cruel. Avinger was incensed, and so were many of the other black sailors on the ship.

  Townsend maintained that he had been entirely fair, even lenient, with Avinger. Avinger’s offense and his record up to that point were serious enough to warrant a dishonorable discharge. During his time in the brig, Avinger wrote a letter to the captain saying he had seen the error of his ways and wanted to ensure an honorable discharge in the future. Townsend was moved by Avinger’s plea to help him get involved in jet maintenance to keep him focused and motivated. As soon as he was released, Townsend had Avinger transferred to the jet shop, where he excelled. Unfortunately, Townsend would come to regret extending his hand to Avinger, eventually concluding that the sailor should have been dishonorably discharged.

  Townsend and Cloud both heard the rumblings of discontent following Avinger’s sentencing, and the captain met with a group of angry black sailors the next day. He was satisfied that he had explained his reasons to the men and that they felt better at the end of the meeting, but a day later another captain’s mast stirred the pot again. This time the mast involved a white sailor who was supervising a black sailor manning a high-pressure water hose. The black sailor lost control of the hose, and when he hesitated in picking it up again, the white man was accused of shoving him and saying “We don’t take no static from niggers down here.” As sailors throughout the ship watched, the charges were described. Townsend resolved the case with only a strong verbal admonition to the white sailor. He knew he could have been a hero to the black men in his crew by coming down hard on the man, and the thought had crossed his mind. But after hearing the evidence, the captain decided that the incident was little more than a shoving match and cross words borne from frustration.

  Black sailors on the Kitty Hawk didn’t see it that way at all. They saw the captain sentencing Avinger to the brig on bread and water and then handing down essentially no punishment to a white man who shoved a black man and called him “nigger.”

  ANOTHER FREQUENT SOURCE OF frustration was a Navy tradition that already had caused many fights and assaults. Nearly every enlisted man coming on the Kitty Hawk had to first serve a stint as mess cook, dishing out chow to the sailors coming through the line or bussing tables. They weren’t actually cooking and learning any skills or doing anything that felt important. That was the job of sailors permanently assigned to the mess decks. Rather, they were just warm bodies doing the grunt work required to feed 5,000 men a day. This requirement wasn’t intended as a hazing but ensured that everyone got a taste of the most basic and least-liked jobs on the ship—and kept these positions filled. Though the policy was not required by the Navy, Townsend liked it because it helped promote the idea that no one was too good to work the chow line. Black sailors tended to see the assignment differently. Even though whites and other minorities worked as mess cooks when they were new to the carrier, either the black sailors did not understand that the policy was nondiscriminatory, or they suspected that their assignments were manipulated to make sure they spent more time in the mess than others. The mess cook assignment was one of the lowest assignments, requiring zero skill, and it previously had been one of the “Negro jobs” on Navy ships. So when a black sailor had to serve as mess cook, it was easy for him to feel like he was being treated as a second-class sailor. And in the case of some Project 100,000 enlistees, they probably were.

  Even the white sailors serving as mess cooks hated the detail and were angry the whole time they slopped chow on sailors’ trays or cleaned the mess decks; the black sailors working th
e chow line were even more resentful. Short tempers resulted in many fights, most of them racially based, in the mess halls. This was where men were off duty, not under the eyes of their immediate superiors, and they were more like themselves—quiet and easygoing or looking for a fight. More than anywhere else on the ship, the mess hall was where even a seemingly innocent comment, the most minor or misperceived slight, could prompt a snarled threat or a punch. The mess cooks working the line seemed almost on a hair trigger, almost eager to take offense at anyone and anything. Travers, the white sailor from California, served his time as mess cook when first coming aboard the Kitty Hawk, and he didn’t like it any more than the others. He was eager to begin his job in electronics, but first he had to spend forty-five days with a big metal spoon putting mashed potatoes on trays for hours at a time. He hadn’t even had a chance to meet the people he would work with in electronics.

  He learned, however, that the mess deck was one of the few places on a carrier where one interacts with others from all over the ship, men from every department. This could be good, but it also could be bad when some of those men were angry and perceived everyone but their closest friends to be racist enemies. Travers encountered more than a few of those crew coming down the line, but he did his best to dish out food without a confrontation—not a simple task. Day after day there were confrontations in the mess decks. The mix of men who didn’t normally see each other, the sullen mess cooks who didn’t want to be there, and the crew members’ dependence on the food they were served to sustain them through exhausting workdays and to give them a moment of comfort in what otherwise might be a miserable day: It all came together to make the mess line a scene of surprisingly high tension. Someone would say something that would be misinterpreted or taken way too seriously and suddenly fists were flying or a serving spoon was lobbed at someone’s head. As with most matters on the Kitty Hawk, race often infused these con with the black mess cook who felt degraded in the position taking offense too easily at a snarky comment by a white sailor in line, or a black crew member assuming his race was the reason the white mess cook splattered him with gravy. Sometimes racism really was at work, but more often, the men were just being petty or not realizing that everyone else was facing the same indignities.

  Most of the mess deck fights were nothing more than face-offs between men shouting insults or maybe inflicting a bloody nose, but one young crewman would soon find that some sailors took the confrontations quite seriously. Twenty-year-old James W. Radford, a white airman from Miami, Florida, was serving out his days as a mess cook after joining the Kitty Hawk. One day in October 1972 he saw six or seven black sailors jump in line, clearly daring others to protest. After some quiet grumbling, the men in line did nothing. Radford didn’t like seeing the black sailors break the rules and he didn’t like their bullying ways, but he began serving them without causing any trouble. Then he noticed that one was out of uniform. This was too much. He called back to a nearby cook who was superior to him.

  “Hey, do I have to serve this guy? He’s not even in uniform.”

  The cook confirmed that Radford didn’t have to serve anyone who came through without a tray (meaning they had jumped the line) or anyone who wasn’t in uniform. So Radford followed the rules and said no. The black man mumbled something profane and reached over to get a sandwich for himself. Radford grabbed his hand and told him no, and he warned the man not to reach again or there would be trouble.

  The black sailor was incensed. Probably in part because his buddies were watching, he puffed up and threatened Radford.

  “Do you want me to climb over there and kick your white ass?” the sailor said.

  “Hey, if you’re feeling froggy, you go ahead and leap,” Radford replied, feeling just as indignant.

  “Why don’t you come out here and say that?” the black sailor replied.

  Radford had had enough of this kind of crap, so he threw off his apron and went around the serving counter to square off. Radford was ready to fight, and so was his adversary. But just then, another black man stood up from the table where he was eating and shouted for them to stop.

  “No! You are not going to fight out here. This is not the time or place.”

  The black sailor responded immediately, putting his fists down and stepping back. Radford was happy to do the same. He returned to the serving station and put his apron back on. Fine. I guess that’s the end of that, he thought.

  But it wasn’t. The sailor and his friends were not done with Radford.

  Other incidents started over equally meaningless confrontations. A white mess cook refused to give a black sailor an extra helping, so the hungry sailor called the other man a honky, prompting said honky to punch him in the face. On another occasion, a black sailor stepped away from his tray but didn’t put an “occupied” sign on it to signal that he would return, so a white mess boy cleared the tray. When the black sailor returned and found his meal was gone, he went after the white sailor.

  On and on it went, every day. Tension was building on the Kitty Hawk. John Callahan, the sailor who was trying to get conscientious objector status and was assigned to the mess deck until the request was handled, saw the fights and heard the slurs day in and day out. After a while, he started to wonder if something was seriously wrong on the ship. It seemed like too much, more than just random spats. He was one of the few white sailors who gave any serious thought to the prospect that there could be a serious blow-up between the races on the Kitty Hawk. But he was in no position to do anything about it.

  THE VIETNAM WAR was already weighing heavily on the crew’s minds when the Kitty Hawk made its way to the Tonkin Gulf to continue the bombing campaign aimed at stopping North Vietnamese forces. The ship’s rapid departure from San Diego in February 1972 meant many of the men had had to scramble to get on board; some had departed with little or no good-byes from their family. Keel had been on leave back home, thinking he had several weeks before deployment, when, while watching television one night, there was an interruption for a news announcement. “Attention. These military members are to report to their duty stations immediately.” Then the announcer recited a list of ships and other units, including the Kitty Hawk. Keel had to go to the airport immediately, with no idea why the deployment had been moved up. He worried that it meant something very bad, perhaps growing international tensions leading to nuclear war. The actual reason had to do with changes in the plans for continued bombing in Southeast Asia and the need to get the Kitty Hawk to work right away.

  Once at sea, there was little relief from the highly demanding work of an aircraft carrier in a combat zone. The crew performed admirably for the most part, launching thousands of sorties and carrying through on President Nixon’s desire to continue the bombing until the nation could find a way out of the war. The work was long and hard, even for an aircraft carrier, and some men got very little rest. The sailors stayed on station longer and longer, despite frequent promises that the cruise would end soon and return to San Diego. The men had no way of knowing they were headed toward a nearly unheard-of 247 days at sea. Each time the promise of going home was broken, the crew became more restless, more tense. Many found solace in drugs.

  At the same time, the black sailors on board were bonding in a way the white sailors and officers did not fully comprehend. The black sailors on the Kitty Hawk created their own community within the ship in which each member was far more closely allied than those in any other racial group. What seemed like collegiality between black sailors actually was, for some at least, much more: It was, as XO Cloud suspected, an extension of the way black Americans had long leaned on each other to cope with a mostly white society and the wrongs inflicted on them by racism.

  For some black sailors on the ship, like Perry Pettus, it was only that. He enjoyed bonding with the black brothers on board, but he never saw it as anything more sinister than simply buddies showing a little black pride and having fun with the slang and fashions of the day. It was buddies hanging o
ut, talking smack about the officers, griping some about the white man, nothing serious. But this only means that Pettus wasn’t involved in the highest level of the black power structure of the Kitty Hawk, a sub rosa society in which the men fed off each other’s gripes about being put down by the white Navy and secretly formed their own command structure and planned for the day they could truly stand up for themselves.

  Townsend and Cloud did not realize the extent of the secret command structure until it was too late. What the captain had perceived as simply bonding among black “brothers” had actually become a formally organized command structure in which some sailors held rank and delivered orders to others on the ship concerning protests and ways to counter what they saw as pervasive racial discrimination. In the following months, Townsend looked back and concluded that a black sailor whom he respected as a hardworking, intelligent, and ambitious sailor who wanted to be promoted to chief, actually had been the sub rosa leader of the black community. Townsend had wondered why the young man had not yet made chief; only later did he learn that the master chief always distrusted the younger man. The sailor sometimes worked on the bridge and his presence there made him privy to conversations among the top officers. Once violence erupted on the Kitty Hawk, Townsend saw this sailor’s face at the front of every mob of black sailors.

  Unlike many crew members on a huge carrier, many black sailors knew each other as individuals, not just nameless faces. They took the time to bond at every opportunity—most prominently through “dapping”—the long, elaborate handshakes popular among many back home. Pettus learned the daps along with every other black sailor on board, but he saw them as harmless bonding. Other black sailors knew that the dap could serve as a “salute” to other members of the sub rosa command structure, the exact nature of the dap connoting where the participants stood in the hierarchy. There were dozens and dozens of dap variations—The Rowboats, The Steamboats, The Over the Mountains—some of them intricate and time consuming. Many involved meaningful symbolism, such as crossing the chest to signify that you were willing to die for the other person or tapping the other man’s forehead to signify passing the power. Some of the daps were well known back home, but the sailors also created their own, choreographing intricate routines in their downtime and passing them on. Dapping became a standard practice among blacks, so much so that it was hard for two sailors to pass each other without at least a short dap. Townsend and Cloud tolerated the practice; there was no Navy directive against it, and they also did not realize that the daps held any particular significance. By 1972, dapping had become so pervasive that it was common to see whites backed up in the narrow passageways, waiting for two black sailors to finish a dap. At times it became an open challenge to the white sailors and officers, with black sailors intentionally blocking a busy passageway for a long dap, silently daring the impatient whites to interfere. Chris Mason once saw a black sailor take a swing at a white officer who got impatient waiting and pushed his way past two black sailors.