Uncle Sam needs your help again.
He's got himself in a terrible jam
Way down yonder in Vietnam
So put down your books and pick up a gun,
We're gonna have a whole lotta fun.
The
year was 1967, and the war was doing quite well, thank you very much.
This was before the lottery, and who knew who would get the greetings
from uncle. So, when I got the invitation to participate in that
overseas conflict, I did the only thing a hippy could do, I enlisted: US
Navy, six years, Advanced Electronics Program, gonna learn a skill.
After
a short summer of fun in Libby, Montana (gotta love that 90 day delayed
enlistment), I was on an airplane to Chicago destined for the Great
Lakes Naval Training Center. Eleven weeks of boot camp followed by six
weeks of Basic Electricity and Electronics (BE&E), twelve weeks of
Electronics Technician ‘A’ school, five weeks of Electronics Technician
‘C’ school, and then on to Lowry Air Force Base, Denver, Colorado to
attend Precision Measuring Equipment Calibration School for 26 weeks.
So,
with leaves and travel, I had been in the Navy nearly two years before I
reported for duty here at the Naval Operations Base, Norfolk, Virginia
— home of the Atlantic Fleet. By then I was a Third Class Electronics
Technician and I was assigned to the USS Vulcan, AR-5. This lady was the
oldest tender in the service and her sisters, the Ajax, Hector, and
Jason (AR-6 through 8 respectively) had already been put up in
mothballs. I think the Vulcan’s closest living relative was the Amphion,
AR-13, over in Holy Lock (NAVSUPPACT), Scotland was about it.
(And
don’t you just love those old Navy group names? It was years later
during my time at IBM I leaned the raw power of an acronym, but the
NAVPERS did act as teething rings.)
Repair ships were
built to maintain the big boys, cruisers, battle wagons. It was a world
of submarine tenders, destroyer tenders, and the Vulcan. I don't know
what ship took care of the carriers. Possibly they were so big they
could take care of themselves.
She was an old WWII
survivor with four, five inch guns. Now I never saw (heard) {felt} the
big sixteeners go off on ships like the New Jersey, but boy those five
inchers were something. They let us up on deck one day near Cuba to
watch those babies fire. Really something. She actually had wooden
decks, planking on top of the metal plate. She was a fine lady and doing
well for her age. All the electronics and precision mechanical spaces
were made of aluminum welded to the top of the old gal. We were Division
R5, Electronics Repair (67A), Calibration Lab (67B), and the Watch and
Clock Repair shop. (They fixed typewriters too.)
Now the
Vulcan was pretty much welded to the dock. We sat in port day-in and
day-out while ships in need of repair service would park alongside,
sometimes four abreast, and we’d wine and dine them ‘till they were
ship-shape again.
The day I arrived we had the Palm Beach,
sister ship to the Pueblo, alongside installing deck guns and armor —
getting the barn door closed after the horses had already galloped.
(Those with a good education in history know the North Koreans captured
the USS Pueblo, a Navy spy ship, in January, 1968. The ship was not
armed and it was a serious problem for uncle.)
The Vulcan
was my home away from home until that happy day in ’73 when I said
goodbye to the dungarees (well, actually I kept wearing the dungarees)
and headed back west. I rented a house on shore that I shared with
various shipmates through the years and drove in to work each day.
I
spent four years here on the coast of Virginia and had many adventures
and good friendships. I’ve now returned to the scene of the crime, only
I’m in the slightly more upscale Virginia Beach rather than the old
abode at 8240 McCloy Rd. Many a good times at both places.
We
would take the gray lady out a couple of times a year just to make sure
we all knew how to do that. Many an exotic port was visited from
Jamaica to Puerto Rico to Burmuda and Cuba (GTMO). We also sailed up to
Nova Scotia, but my favorite port was always Fort Lauderdale. So I got
my sea legs, but never was a pollywog.
When I got out of
the Navy, we had two parties to celebrate. The first was public, held at
a house on Willoughby Spit, and it lasted two days of party, music,
fun, and frankly that’s all I can remember. It was at that party that I
first met Linda. I guess I made a good impression because to this day
she talks about my clogs I was wearing. Well, clogs went well with bell
bottoms.
The other party was a private get together with
just a few close friends: Joe and Pat, Bottman, Mark Foreman, a couple
of others. We spent that night here at VA Beach. Memory is a little
fuzzy on that one too. Did we ride our bikes or drive down?
Anyway,
I’m back. This morning is rather windy and the surf is up. Headed down
for a cup of joe and little walk on the boardwalk. It is chilly today,
but I’ve got my Haines, Alaska “water resistant” jacket. F-15’s
overhead, blue sky and gray ocean, smell of crab in the air, time to
unwind.
Originally written Sept. 16, 2011, during a stay at Virginia Beach, Virginia.
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