Honor, Courage, Commitment

by Leahy, John F.

  Trindade and the others joined the formation, which marched west on the pathway behind Ship Eight. After waiting for a seemingly endless stream of traffic, Redekop spotted a break, and posted road guards to protect the recruits as they crossed to the chapel plaza. A following detachment, seeing the break, sped up, and replaced Ship Eight’s road guards with their own and further held traffic till all were safely across the road.

  “Traffic on Sunday is a circus, and we may or may not have an RPOC in the detachment,” mused Redekop later. “And since we don’t carry flags or cutlasses into chapel, it would be difficult to identify who it might be, anyway. So it’s just ‘head ’em up and move ’em out’ at that point. We hate to look drifty in front of parents and visitors, but . . .”

  Drifty or not, the recruits arrived at the chapel a few minutes before Mass at 0700. With recruit RPOs acting as ushers, the main sanctuary quickly filled. A volunteer choir began the entrance hymn, and the congregation rose to greet the morning’s celebrant, Father Milton Gianulis, a Navy chaplain and priest of the Archdiocese of New York. Dressed in green liturgical vestments, Chaplain Gianulis greeted the assembled recruits, led them in the penitential prayer, and presided as recruits read the scripture passages appointed for the date. After each reading, the choir led the assembly in the responses.

  Father Gianulis rose, approached the lectern, and read from the thirteenth chapter of St. Mark’s gospel, in which Jesus commands his disciples to be ever watchful. Chaplain Gianulis expanded on the concept during his short homily, providing relevant examples from the recruits’ own experiences. “A watchstander has to be a person of trust,” he said. “You know yourselves how important it is that the watch keeps a good vigil at all times. Your gear, your uniforms, all your possessions depend on how alert the watchstander is. Well, it’s the same with your soul. The devil can sneak in if you don’t take care.” The congregation reflected on the possibility of someone—perhaps the dreaded FQA inspectors—arriving in their compartments unannounced. No doubt, in the minds of the recruits, the comparison between FQA and the Prince of Darkness was particularly apt.

  The choir sang “Bread of Life” as an offertory hymn, and the recruits knelt silently as Father Gianulis repeated the age-old words of consecration that, in the Roman Catholic tradition, made the risen Savior physically present at the altar table. The recruits rose, and received communion from Chaplain Gianulis, assisted by a cadre of lay members of the congregation. After a few brief concluding prayers, and general remarks by Father Gianulis, the entire congregation stood and sang, with vigor and feeling, the Navy Hymn.

  Pankratz Well, I had a little trouble hearing the sermon or the gospel reading. I was in the back, and there were a lot of recruits with the Ricky Crud, and they were coughing a lot. But I could understand the point about keeping alert. But the hymn got to me. You never know what’s going to happen—I suppose bad things could happen to me back home in Montana as easily as out in the fleet—but you know the dangers are greater out there.

  The recruits mustered on the only empty area of the drill field/parking lot, and, after dodging the hazards of base traffic yet again, were shortly back at Ship Eight. From 0800 until noon chow, their time was their own.

  As they returned, several recruits were chatting in the head, the scene of most philosophical discussions in boot camp. When a visitor wandered in, one asked, “Do you think it’s better to be Catholic or Protestant?” Startled by theological debate at this unlikely spot, the visitor asked what precisely had triggered the unexpected question. Were there concerns about predestination? Transubstantiation? Or was it simply a disagreement among budding scholastics about the relative merits of grace freely given versus good works?

  “Naw,” said the irrepressible Recruit Ward. “The Catholics go to church at 0700. The Protestants don’t go till 0930, and their service is longer. Is it better to go early and have a long, uninterrupted Ricky Sunday, or is it better to loaf around from chow till 0930 before you have to get up and go outside?”

  The visitor sighed, and moved on.

  “Well, at least they were thinking of going to services,” chuckled Lt. Diana Lantz, when told the story. “Unfortunately, only about a quarter of the recruits avail themselves of religious services when they are in boot camp. There was a time when the Navy coerced recruits to go. I’ve been told you even had to get a ‘heathen chit’ to be excused! But now, it’s a matter of personal choice to go or not to go.”

  Lieutenant Lantz is not the only female chaplain on active military service, but it’s a fair chance she’s the only active Kiwi female chaplain in the U.S. Navy. A native of Invercargill, at the southern tip of New Zealand’s South Island (“The Mainland,” she proudly points out), Chaplain Lantz is the most recently assigned chaplain at Recruit Training Command. Ordained for the Presbyterian church, she served as pastor in rural Ohio before heeding her denomination’s call for more chaplains to minister to the military. Married to a former USAF chaplain, she has been in the Navy for less than a year, and RTC is her first duty station. She freely admits to being overwhelmed with the incongruity of the situation at times.

  “My family emigrated to New Zealand from the Netherlands, mostly to avoid military conscription. While we didn’t have anyone at Galipoli with the ANZACs, we did have others who served in the New Zealand forces during the war. But I can’t help wondering what my schoolmates back in Invercargill must think when they hear that I’m a serving officer in the Yank Navy. I’m where God wants me to be, though.”

  Chaplain Lantz, in addition to her duties at the recruit chapel, is also the visiting chaplain for Ship Eight and chaplain for Division 005. “I try to visit them once a week or so, particularly when they are in high-stress times, like their P-days, Service Week, or the night they run battle stations. I just try to let them know that there is someone who cares about them, someone who won’t yell or scream if they make a mistake, and that we’re here to help them as best we can. Sometimes recruits come to us and tell us that they regret joining. We tell every recruit we meet, ‘We can’t get you out of here,’ but we also tell them that they’re not the first recruit to feel that way, and that the vast majority go on to productive and happy careers in the Navy.”

  Chaplain Lantz is one of several Protestant chaplains at RTC. “Each of us comes from a different tradition,” she noted. “The chaplain whom I relieved was an Episcopalian, and his services were more liturgical than mine. I made just a few changes so that I would feel more comfortable, and most chaplains do that. We’re not so much nondenominational as multi-denominational. At last Sunday’s service, I issued an altar call—something that I don’t usually do—because it felt right at the time to do it. Our goal is to make everyone feel welcome, and to give them just a little bit of ‘home’ here while they are undergoing basic training. And every chaplain provides an opportunity for appropriate religious instruction, for those who wish to commit to a particular faith or be confirmed in it. So with that, plus our duties as liaison to the Red Cross and Navy relief societies for sailors dealing with personal tragedies or financial crisis, we stay pretty busy.”

  Services other than Protestant and Roman Catholic are available to the recruits. “There are actually several smaller chapels inside this building, in addition to the main worship space,” Chaplain Lantz noted. “We can have concurrent services for smaller communities, and, in fact, we host Orthodox Christian, Lutheran, and LDS (Mormon) services each Sunday. At the appropriate times, the chapel hosts Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish, and Seventh Day Adventist services, conducted by lay leaders—often members of the command—who have been certified by their faith communities to minister to their members. In many ways, the recruits have more access to religious expression here than they would in the civilian community,” she concluded.

  Leitner When I was preparing to come to the Navy, I was told that we would have church services. This definitely is an advantage. I was raised in a Christian home, and my family attended church every Sund
ay. I was reborn at an early age. I love to praise and give thanks to the Lord—it’s a part of me. The first Sunday we were allowed to attend church services was a happy moment. Everyone got up at reveille and it seemed like everyone was helping each other. It was like the calm after the storm. Everyone was craving spiritual well-being, serenity, and peacefulness—a time without RDCs, without the yelling, fighting, and swearing—it really filled me with joy.

  I was happy to see my husband* I was happy to meet all the others from his division and have fellowship with them. Everyone was singing and rejoicing, there was not a dry eye in the chapel.

  What’s nice about the service is that recruits from different parts of Christianity are made welcome and don’t feel left out. The staff is there to make you feel comfortable and safe from “RDC terror.” You even get invited to sing a solo or testify, if you want to.

  The chapel has been a great link for my husband and me. We get to use a counseling room to converse and catch up on what’s happening in each of our divisions. We feel particularly blessed to be able to do this, because most recruits’ loved ones are out of reach, and we have each other, right here at Great Lakes. But when services are over, and you walk out those doors, reality strikes again. Spiritual time is over for awhile, and it’s back to boot camp again!

  Seaman Recruit Wirsch is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormon). Her parents, Mike and Pam Wirsch, have graciously shared a letter she wrote shortly after arriving at Great Lakes:

  Dear Mama,

  Hi, it’s me again. I’m just writing to tell you about my first experience going to church here.

  The reason why I thought you’d want to know is because I know you’re worried about me, and with good reason, I guess. Especially when you consider that one experience here, they say, is being put through a gas chamber. Having your baby girl put into a room filled with teargas could make any parent uneasy. However, there is a reason I bring this up. I’m not trying to make you any more nervous, what I am trying to get across is that the church is a safe environment in a very volatile, confusing place.

  During the most stressful time in boot camp—during the first week or so when we were still in our P-days—we couldn’t get to church. Finally, though, we were able to go. But something always comes up to stop you from going to church, just like at home, sometimes. In my case, we had come back late from chow, so it was already nearly 0700, which is when all of us going to the meetings leave from our ship. We don’t get called separately, we leave with the Catholics, because their service is at the same time as ours. I ran up and down and found out that they had already left. I was frantic, and went to Senior Chief Nelson of brother division and asked what to do. I was crying and all, but he was real nice and told me to go to the quarterdeck and ask for Petty Officer Russell who was there in the lounge. I ran down praying that she wouldn’t yell at me, or that the other RDCs in the lounge wouldn’t yell either. I had only a few minutes to get over to the chapel, and I was really crying hard, I was so upset. I was really scared to knock on the door of the lounge—the other recruits call that “swimming with the sharks.” But just as I was ready to knock, the quarterdeck watch said she wasn’t there—she had gone off duty. I was bawling as I went back to our compartment.

  Now, Mama, you know how hard brother division’s female chief has been on us sometimes. But Chief Brown saw me crying, and asked why, and I could hardly get the words out. I had been wanting to go to our meetings since I got here, and I had missed my chance. But, Mama, she was so nice! She left her division alone and walked me over to the chapel, and talked to me on the way over, she was so really nice! I was crying all the way over, and when I went inside I was crying from the opening hymn “The Spirit of God” to the last amen two hours later. I could almost feel Heavenly Father walking, sitting, standing, and praying right next to me the whole time. So close that when I was looking forward marching his hand could have been brushing mine. It was a miracle that there was any way I could have made it to church that day. But it’s more than that, Mom. They will take us to Thanksgiving dinner, they send us mail to lift our spirits, call our parents for us, and pass out blessings and hugs for us when we’re there. I’m always excited about Sundays, and love to see the other church members going with me to the chapel. Mommy—Heavenly Father is taking care of me, as well as his ever-supportive servants. He is everything to me, and all I can do is try to be a good example.

  And she was, indeed.

  For the recruits, Monday, 27 November, was the beginning of the end. Although they were still on their 6-5 day of training because of the Thanksgiving holiday, this would be the last full week of training before battle stations. But first, they must past the dreaded physical training test (PT-2). Failure here would mean a panic attempt to pass later in the week, and unless a passing score could be posted by Thursday morning, disqualification from battle stations, and probable setback to another division.

  Stacey Williams, 19, Brooklyn, New York

  I knew we were going to firefighting in the afternoons, so I tried to concentrate on that. I didn’t want to think about PT-2 any more than I had to. I knew I had to get through that or get set back. And I most definitely didn’t want to get ASMOed, that’s for sure.

  Shelton I just figured, well, we ran on Saturday, and that’s about a mile and a half, and I wasn’t winded or anything, so I’ll just get over there, run, and do my best. What else can you do?

  The final PT test was held at Drill Hall 1400, the site of Saturday’s Captain’s Cup games. Attitudes were strikingly different, however. While Saturday was fun and games, this was serious business. They’d be measured on push-ups, curls, and the 1.5-mile run. Because of the importance of the day’s measurements, a full cadre of PT instructors would observe, grade, and monitor their performance.

  “This one is the big cheese,” said Petty Officer Kent. “Make this one, and the front gate opens up for you. Blow PT-2, and unless you get lucky and get a chance to try again before battle stations, you’re hanging around Great Lakes a lot longer than your shipmates.”

  Once again, passing scores were pegged to gender and age. The division did well in the push-up and curl portions of the event. The run—which was timed electronically using small anklets that triggered an electronic clock—was another story. “We had nine PT-2 failures,” remarked Chief Zeller. “That’s way out of line even for an integrated division. What’s worse, we had some really dumb failures. We had a couple recruits who couldn’t keep track of their laps—they needed to do nine around the track, and they stopped after eight. That’s just plain stupid.”

  The RDCs negotiated for the opportunity for failing recruits to retake the test later. The division was fortunate—summer surge was over, and there was time on the schedule for retests. The PT instructors decided that, if one RDC from the brother divisions (005 and 006) would accompany the test takers, they would be permitted to retest very early each morning. Senior Chief Nelson, who had recently been reassigned as a ship’s LCPO, agreed to escort and motivate recruits from both divisions. His offer was greatly appreciated.

  Petty Officer Russell That was really decent of Senior Chief to do that. He had his own ship to worry about, and, honestly, most of the retest people were from 005 and not 006. But he volunteered to come in early and go with them. I thought that was pretty classy.

  Alcazar I was really broken up about flunking the run. I just missed my time by a couple seconds. I was crying, and Senior Chief Nelson took me aside and got me back on track. I really appreciate what he did, he didn’t have to do that.

  Scorsone I was one of the ones that missed a lap. I don’t know how I did that, but I did. I was keeping score on my fingers every time I passed the clock, but somehow I just missed one lap. I was on a pretty good pace, too, I thought.

  The recruits had little time to commiserate with their shipmates. For the next three days they’d be involved with hands-on firefighting training, putting into practice those skil
ls and techniques they had learned in the classroom over the past week.

  James Troeger, Mountlake Terrace, Washington

  I figured that was going to be fun. We’d seen other divisions on the fire deck when we were in the classroom, and they looked like they were enjoying it. I like getting up and being active, and it had to be better than being in class.

  The division spent Monday through Wednesday afternoons on the fire deck of the Fire Fighting Training Unit. Formally designated as the 19F5 simulator, the twin red-framed buildings, linked by a grinder, were located at the far northeastern corner of the base.

  Dedicated in December 1990, the facility gives recruits an opportunity to fight any of three classes of fire: Class A (ordinary combustibles); Class B (petroleum-based); and Class C (electrical). Additional lab space is dedicated to teaching the proper way to control a “wild hose” (a fire hose that has slipped from the hands of the linesmen). One exposure to the wild hose was enough to make all the recruits extremely careful when handling charged fire hoses.

  Volk That part was scary. That nozzle was whipping around, like, a hundred miles an hour. I didn’t ever want to see that happen for real.

  Instructors divided the division into fire parties, and taught them to find, identify, contain, and extinguish fires at sea. The recruits practiced the proper procedures for opening watertight doors, and how to advance, carrying the charged 1.5-inch lines. They learned how to escape from smoke-filled compartments, as well as how to activate and care for their oxygen breathing apparatus.

  Chief Zeller It’s good that firefighting training is right before battle stations. The instructors will be the first to tell you—this is the only area where there is real risk to the recruits. When you’re doing other things in battle stations, it’s usually a simulation. But the flames are real, and they don’t know you’re just practicing.

  By Thursday, all but three of the recruits had passed the make-up sessions of PT-2. Those recruits would be prohibited from running battle stations that evening, and would eventually ASMO from the division. For the remainder, though, battle stations, the Navy’s answer to the Marine Corps Crucible, was about to begin.