Every Ending Has A Beginning

11/26/2006 11:53:18 AM This part of my story was posted previously in the comments of Bob’s One Cosmos Under God Blog.
It is edited and cleaned up, thanks to my Tech support staff (my wife. Thanks Babe).

I joined the US Navy a few days after my 17th birthday.
I went to the Marines and Army first, but they were out to lunch, and the Navy recruiter, who brought his lunch in a bag, saw me trying the locked doors of the Marines and Army, and noticed my disappointment and was kind enough to offer his help.

You see, what I really wanted to do was join the Navy, and I just didn't know it...yet. Not until the friendly, caring recruiter reached my inner Sailor, that is.

After hearing about my dream of joining the Marine Corps or the Army, he said "That's great, but you don't want to dig foxholes all the time, do you?”

“I tell you what,” he said, “those recruiters won't be back for awhile, so why not see what the Navy has to offer? Are you hungry? Want a coke or coffee?”

That sounded good to me. I was hooked after hearing how I would see many exotic countries around the world, for free!
That recruiter was the best salesman I ever met, and he made me feel smart and mature, even showing me respect that I hadn't earned.
But he was also honest.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Ben,” he said, "The Navy isn't a cakewalk, you see, and a lot of guys aren't tough enough to hack it, but I can tell that you have the right stuff!"

Welll...if you put it that way.
He was honest, I must say. Sure, like all boys, I only heard what I wanted to hear, but he didn't lie to me.

He might have omitted a few little things, such as hand scrubbing the deck of the head (restroom), or painting the mast, but these were things that built character, I later learned, and that wasn't going to be my main job.
So I signed on the dotted line, and was eager to begin! Each generation of Boot Camp is easier, in many ways, just as each generation of Americans have easier lives, mentally and physically speaking.

Bootcamp in the 70's meant that the Company Commanders/Drill Instructors could still legally cuss at you, which didn't bother me, but it was kind of funny, sometimes, making it very difficult to hide smiles from the CC.

You don't want to be noticed by the CC, because that meant extra push-ups, running, sit-ups or any other kind of physical torture the CC could dream up.

To make it more interesting, our CC was a big believer in punishing the entire company when one guy screwed up.
The problem was, we had a lot of screw-ups, i.e. really stupid recruits and smart alecs.
The smart alecs, or f*ck-ups were worse, because they had to enlist to avoid jail time for some crime (thank God that is no longer a policy).

We had an unusually high number of car thieves, drug dealers, burglars and anger management poster boys in our company.
This meant pretty much non-stop punishment.

About halfway through Boot Camp an Officer wanted to see me.
I was about to protest and say they had the wrong guy, when the Officer offered me a chair.
No one offers you a chair in Boot Camp, so I'm really puzzled.

The Officer says I had high scores on my tests, and offers me a chance to go to the Naval Academy and become an Officer.
Sounds good right? One little catch: I had to commit to 9 years of service.

I had already regretted my decision to join, realizing in my youthful wisdom that Boot Camp sucks, and it was not fair, so I was quick to turn down that generous offer.
I didn't want anymore surprises, not for 9 years.

It was also a really stupid choice in retrospect, but 20/20 hindsight is like that.
After Boot Camp, and Operations Specialist "A" school, I reported aboard my first ship, the USS Henderson, trying to remember if I saluted the Jack or the Ensign and was that before or after I salute the Officer of the Deck?
And so the fun indeed did start.
The Messenger of the watch showed me my new home.
A berthing space, with 45 other guys crammed in.

The head had 2 urinals and 2 stalls. There was 2 sinks with aluminum "mirrors" that distort your face, sort of like carnival mirrors, and 2 shower stalls, one that only sprayed cold water, I later learned.

I became familiar with the mysterious phrase "Fire in the hole!" When someone flushed, they would say this, to warn guys in the showers that boiling, hot, steaming water was imminent!
Some guys "forget" to say it, and I assure you, they were cursed.
The racks ("beds") were stacked 3 high, and being the new guy without any rank of importance, I was assigned the top rack.
Goody, I get to climb to bed.
This just keeps getting better and better.
But nothing was going to ruin my anticipation of exotic countries for free.
Those were great pics that recruiter had, of lush green islands, volcanoes, jungles in the Philippines, Thailand beaches, the Outback...

"Hey you!" I heard."

“Huh? What?" I say, as I'm getting ready to hit the rack (sleep).

“I want you and Seaman Smitty to clean up the head and berthing area.
The Command Duty Officer (CDO) will be down to inspect in 1 hour," said Petty Officer Second Class Weekley.

You ever get that feeling when it dawns on you that you are screwed?
That was what I was feeling.The USS Henderson was stationed in Long Beach, Ca, a city that had seen much better days.
Not a place to take a vacation in.

What I saw was a dark, sleazy kind of city, with biker bars, rednecks, long shore men, shipyard workers, Sailors, and some Marines.
That was the red-light party zone, where all the bars juke boxes playing southern rock, classic rock, country Rock, and honky tonk music.

Pool tables of course were a staple.
One bar was famous for free, shelled peanuts.
Free food always draws in Sailors.

Hustlers didn't do well in that kind of environment.
It was relatively peaceful, believe it or not, with only a few fights every night.
None involving weapons, except for the occasional pool stick.

Most of the women were pretty tough also.

This rough and tumble environment was to be a huge part of my destiny, but I didn't know that, yet.

"So, Smitty, what does the Henderson do?" I asked.

My fellow cleaning slave was friendly enough, and I was curious.
"The Henderson is a Destroyer, commissioned in 1945.
The ship used to hunt submarines and surface warships, and protect the Aircraft Carrier or merchant ships from enemy aircraft and ships.
Now the ship's mission is to train Naval and Coast Guard Reservists.
That's why we only have a skeleton crew. Just enough men to maintain the ship and keep her 1200 pound boilers running." He said.
"OK", said I, "when is our next Westpac (western Pacific) deployment?"
Once again those pictures of exotic and really cool countries danced in my head.
I could hardly wait to see those places, for free!

"We aren't going to deploy. Like I said, we train Reservists. We only sail within a few hundred miles from the coast. Besides, the snipes (engineers) have a hard enough time keeping those old boilers on line.
This ship breaks down a lot,” Smitty said.

As this sank in, I decided I didn't like Smitty all that much anymore.
How could this be? Where was the justice? It just wasn't fair.
Dreams dashed away while I scrubbed the sh*tters.
Well, that's what everyone called them. It was unofficially official.

I could taste the irony, and self-pity clung to me like an ocean fog.
Lesson number one: Reality has a mean left hook.
And Reality wasn't finished.
The party was about to go into overdrive.
How much Reality can a man take?