TOC

In July 1963 I completed ETB School, Treasure Island CA, and received orders to GMS DNECK to attend an 4-week introduction to computers course starting in August. I was newly married; but we agreed she would stay in San Francisco with her family and friends. So I went off to VA by my lonesome just as I had done in my single days.

In the mysterious workings of Navy detailing, at the end of the 4-week course I was ordered across the street to NAVDAC C School. My GMS stay turned into 4-months. After completing NAVDAC, I received orders to USNS Bowditch via San Francisco. The Navy there had never heard of the Bowditch. They told me to stay put and muster by phone. Staying at home with my new bride was not bad duty. Finally, they sent me to local MSTS headquarters.

At MSTS, I was shuffled through several Navy admin types who knew nothing about the Bowditch or what to do with me. Finally, a WO told me to follow him. We snaked our way through a dark warehouse to a small office in a remote corner of the warehouse. A civilian was seated at a desk. The WO exchanged a few words with him and was dismissed. Then, speaking in whispers, the man thoroughly checked me out, before he told me that if I were to go to Yokosuka Japan I might – MIGHT – connect with the Bowditch. With only this tidbit, I went back to the admin office. They were all too happy to get rid of me and arranged for me to fly out of McGuire AFB via military charter. My short honeymoon was over.

The made a midnight pit stop in Anchorage before the long trip across the Pacific. We landed at an air base near Tokyo early the next day. Navy liaison at the terminal checked my orders, gave me a train ticket, and sent me on my way. When I checked into Yokosuka Receiving Station, they told me the Bowditch departed that morning and would not be back for a month. They were delighted to have another E5 at their beck and call. They assigned me a bunk and told me to report for Shore Patrol duty in one hour.

Fortunately, there was some problem, and Bowditch had not departed that morning. However, she was departing that afternoon. The yeoman made a check of the Receiving Station for new arrivals as an excuse to make a last call at the club. Lucky for me, he found me just as I was putting on my gear in preparation for patrolling the lively sailor bars in lovely Yokosuka. So I arrived onboard just before the lines were cast off.

In those days survey ops were not as automated as they were after overhaul. We laid out a transponder pattern which served as a reference point. A QM and an ET stood watch in a room behind the pilot house. The QM plotted the ship’s track and passed course adjustments/changes to the MSTS Officer of the Deck. The ET monitored LORAN-C and logged position data which placed us somewhere on Earth. SINS and NAVDAC played a role in this formula. A basic SONAR provided ocean depth data. NAVOCEANO cartographers manually plotted depth data on sheets of Mylar and connected the dots using those Rapido-graph pens we all had to have. If data was missing, they deftly filled in the gaps by professional PIOYA.

Our XO Mr. Moss had only 6 months in the Navy when I came aboard. He joined the USNR in college and reported to Bowditch directly from Knife and Fork U – Officer’s School. He was the first/only African-American officer I served under, but one of the finest officers I knew during my Navy career. The Navy lost a good man because the prejudices of the day led him to decide to leave the service when his obligation was fulfilled. His Navy future was severely limited.

A funny incident involving Mr. Moss occurred while we operated in the tropical South Pacific. Every quarters we nagged him to modify the uniform of the day to T-shirts. Those of us who had been on other ships knew this was allowed. Mr. Moss was not sure and would not give the OK. One morning after another round of nags he exclaimed: “Wear whatever you want. I don’t care if you don’t wear anything at all.” - or words to that effect.

One of the ETs was a real character named Merrill ‘Pigpen’ Stone. He got the nickname from the Peanuts character and for the same reason. It was a Friday morning, and while many things about TAGS duty was not typically Navy, Friday field-day was not one of them. Mr. Moss came around to see how the cleaning was progressing. In the lounge he found Pigpen stripping the deck – totally naked except for his sneakers. Mr. Moss said: “Pigpen put some clothes on”. Pigpen came back: “But Mr. Moss you said . . .” Mr. Moss ambled off muttering “I’ll never say another word to those sailors.”

I’m sure anyone on the Bowditch at that time will never forget Chief Sam Dear. He was recalled from the Fleet Reserve when the Navy ran into one of those periodic shortages of senior petty officers. Sam was a short, wizened old man who shuffled about in old felt carpet slippers. He thought he was in great physical condition and would often strike a strong-man pose and ask: “How old do you think I am?” He would then add: “You wouldn’t believe I’m 65 would you?” We’d usually reply with some smartass answer like: “No Sam, we thought you were 85.” He’d then stammer in disgust and shuffle off to his stateroom.

Sam was not from a technical rating so he understood little about our work. He created a job for himself by setting up a locker to keep consumable items secured under lock and key. If you needed a pen, a sponge, or a tweaker, you had to ask Sam to get it from the locker. But his system had one basic flaw. He set high-low limits for each item. When an item reached its low limit, he refused to issue the item until new supplies came in. You had to get the EMO to open the locker with the spare key and issue a needed item.

Sam’s stateroom adjoined the lounge, and he often complained of the loud music and noise, which encouraged us to crank up the volume. Once he let us know he hated the Beatles, who were just coming into popularity in the US. A new guy brought a 7” reel-to-reel tape of Beatles music. We immediately set up a round-the-clock watch and kept that tape playing around the clock for 72 hours. Sam never mentioned loud music or the Beatles again.

Everyone knew I was newly married and my wife was in San Francisco. At all hours of the day and night, I’d get called to the lounge for a message. When I picked up the phone, I’d hear: ‘I Left My Heart In San Francisco’ or ‘California Dreamin’. I came to hate Tony Bennett more than NAVDAC, but I still enjoy the Mamas and the Papas.

Mid-tour I advanced to ET1 and moved to the E6 stateroom, where I joined Dale Wiggins, ‘Freddy’ Fredericks, and SK1 Frank ?

Frank, had emphysema. Each morning he sat on the edge of his bunk for about half an hour chain smoking and emitting sounds not unlike a WWII era hand-cranked aircraft starting up. He’d spit and sputter, cough and wheeze until finally his engine kicked in. The steps leading up to the level where our mess was located were a challenge for Frank. He had to stop halfway up and catch his breath before he could manage the last three steps. The storeroom was in #4 hold. When he had to go there, it was an all day event. Frank was still on active duty because he almost had his 20 years in. The Navy was more benevolent in those days.

The unit usually gathered in the lounge after evening meal for relaxation and socialization. We often played games. Movie trivia was a favorite. LCDR Overton, the OCDET Commander, was a whiz at this. As a teen he had worked in a theater, and he had a phenomenal recall of movies, actors, directors, etc. – sort of a living ‘Videohound’. No one could stump him.

Scrabble was another favorite. Commander Overton decided the dictionary in his stateroom was the official reference source. If a word wasn’t in IT, it wasn’t a legitimate word. Needless to say, he was often called on at odd hours to verify or deny a word. He didn’t seem to mind.

Sperry NAVDAC Rep Jean Brief, a Chess Master, taught the game to all interested in learning. He would take on and usually defeat all challengers, sometimes playing two or three games simultaneously. Frenchy’s habit of placing empty Grenadine bottles outside his stateroom door irritated our officers. They felt it violated their ‘official’ disapproval of imbibing alcohol on the ship. He ignored their protests saying he used it as mouthwash.

Movies were a major form of entertainment. Once we got ‘The Guns of Navarrone’. Doc Gibbs, loved it and watched it every night – more often if he could get someone to run the projector for him. Doc also had a keen sense of humor.

IC Duncan was a naïve 19-yo from West Virginia. Apparently he never practiced self-abuse as he developed a medical problem that required attention when we got into port. Doc let it be known that the doctors ordered Duncan to masturbate nightly under his supervision. So every night after evening meal, when he was sure most of the crew were in the lounge, Doc would say: ‘Come on Duncan. Time to go j**k o**.’ Duncan would turn beet red, but dutifully follow Doc to sick bay. When they returned, Doc would report to all: ‘Duncan did a good job tonight’.

At that time, the Navy required us to exercise regularly and be tested for physical fitness under a program implemented by order of President John F Kennedy - informally referred to as JFKs. Some played volleyball in #4 hold. The more agile jumpers knocked their heads on the steel beams running across the low overhead. Being wiser, I chose to do exercises. Once as I did a sit-up the ship took a large roll. I fell backward several feet further than I expected. Later, I felt some lower back pain, but did not tell Doc. We were entering port in a few days, and I didn’t want to spend my time at the base sick bay and miss out on that fabulous Yokosuka R & R.

I had first watch when we went back to sea. After 4 hours sitting in front of LORAN, I stood up but couldn’t walk. The QM sent for Doc who thought I was faking it. When I convinced him I wasn’t, Doc got help to get me to my bunk. I stayed there for several days until the pills he gave me relaxed me enough that I could sort of walk. For several days I floated about the ship holding onto the handrails to keep from bumping my head on the overhead. Was I ever high!

Doc had a large jar full of those pills, which reminded me of dark chocolate M&M’s. He said the Navy won’t let corpsman have them anymore, so he stocked up while he could get them. There have been many times since that I would have loved to have a handful of those wonderful pills. My back still gives me problems from time to time. Thank you JFK.

Speaking of faking it – Another young newly-wed reported on board. He made it clear from the start that he was not happy being away from his new bride. He was also certain that he would not take to life at sea. Sure enough, as soon as we left port, he starting heaving and took to his bunk. He refused to get out no matter how direly he was threatened – even to eat. We sailors took mercy on him and brought him crackers which seemed to be the only thing he could keep down. Next time in port, he saw a host of doctors who apparently agreed with his personal diagnosis. One day, he came on board, packed his gear, and left the ship with a big smile on his face. We never saw or heard from him again.

Another shipmate named Oakley expressed his feelings about TAGS duty in a different way. After a few drinks, he’d start pounding away with his fists on any handy hard object – stone walls – whatever; but he never struck another person. His hands would be a bloody mess of open wounds after one of these episodes. Doc took him to see the base doctors for a medical evaluation. Those shrinks determined his idiosyncrasies were no more abnormal than those of the rest of us, so Oakley remained on board for his full tour of duty. Go figure.

On a different note, LCDR Overton had to be relieved at sea. He took up station on a wing of the bridge and stood there staring fixedly into the distance for several hours. The Ship’s Captain was called and tried to coax him below, but he kept saying he couldn’t because ‘they would get him if he moved’. OCDET officers and Doc finally got the Commander to his room. He asked to be relieved of command.

Mr. Moss said he would be hanged for mutiny if he took command. However, after several days of deliberation and indecision, the change took place in accordance with procedures. There was a formal inquiry when we got into port. The Board found the action was justified and necessary. Mr. Moss was commended, and LCDR Overton departed.

LCDR Pendergast came on board as the new OCDET Commander. He graduated from the Naval Academy with a degree in Oceanography. Commander Pendergast passed along his enthusiasm for our work to all of us. I recently saw his obituary on the web.

By the way, Mr. Hess was the First Mate at this time. His is an interesting story in itself.

Toward November, we set sail across the Pacific, through the Panama Canal, and ended up in Hoboken NJ in preparation for going into Brooklyn Naval Shipyard for overhaul. I left for San Francisco on annual leave. When I returned after Christmas, I had orders to NAS Pensacola. After several days of shipyard fire and security watches, I departed the Bowditch.

Does anyone remember the partially eaten hamburger and soda can that was found in the overhead of the OCDET living quarters - apparently left there during a previous overhaul?