My Life (abridged) in Austin's Words

The following are a series of narratives prepared by Austin. Although much of what appears below is used in the bio itself, the better story is told by those directly involved. There are several sections and they mostly reflect Austin's musings on a particular event or period. Enjoy!

December 1963
Oh what a night, compliments of Tim Stone of the 4 Seasons. Think back to 1963. There were so many great nights. A time when we had more energy, grit, and a passion for life. I was just slipping into the seat of my brand new '64 Plymouth Sport Fury convertible with an unbelievable 426 engine bought off the floor from Al's Motors on Wilson Boulevard for $3,400.00. Thought I would be paying for it all my life. Ended up giving the car, still in great running condition, to my Dad. The stories he told me about slamming that 15 inch Hurst floor shift made me wonder about him. He did tell me that the Fury was the fastest car he had ever driven. Prior to that his
fastest was an old Hudson Hornet.

We were safe and sane during those years, no guns, few knives, and we settled our troubles with our fists. The music had heart and soul, and the best thing going was American Bandstand. No, I'm not living in the past ... just thinking of a kinder more gentle period. At the time I worked for Big Brothers of the National Capital Area. Changed my outlook on life. I was fortunate to meet Drew Pearson before he passed on. He was a good man. So much for that period of time.


September 1966
It was Sept. 19, 1966, when I boarded a plane at 9 am in route to Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Waukegan, Ill. The United States Navy was teaching me how to become a sailor. I was instructed to wear clothes that could be thrown away. Upon arrival at O'Hare International Airport in Chicago, the temperature was in the 40s and here I was along with others in t-shirts and shorts. I was freezing and nothing to keep me warm except body heat. We boarded a bus and proceeded to the base. We arrived about an hour later and assigned a billet with only one blanket. Looking around the barracks I could see cracks in the wall to the outside. Nearly all of us were covered up with one measly blanket. We had not been issued uniforms or cold weather gear...P-coat.

Some time passed and this 5' 6" First class Machinist Mate walked in and jumped up on a table. He had ribbons on his chest that would impress an Admiral. He had a braid across his shoulder and 4 hash marks flowing down his left sleeve in gold. I thought that the Marines had tough Drill Instructors. I was wrong. This smallish sailor with a bellowing voice said "what the F are you pukes doing in your racks"? I spoke up and said "we have no uniforms." He said "we will see about that. By the way you are now a squad leader." I tried to decline, knowing never to volunteer. He was on me like stink on a skunk. He looked up at me and said "I did not ask you. I'm telling you." At that point I shut my mouth out of fear of what was coming next.

About an hour passed and we formed up and went through the clothing rooms. A working uniform was issued to all of us with more to come later. We were issued a chambray long sleeve shirt along with a pair of bell bottoms. We were also issued underwear, socks, scratchy swimsuit, and a "skid lid." Thats a cover to all you non-sailors. We were issued a ditty bag - which i still have - to keep our toiletries in. We spent most of our time putting our names and service numbers on every piece of clothes. This super sailor had gone through our service records and found that I out-ranked everyone in the company. I had advanced through the ranks in the reserves at Jones Point under the Wilson Bridge in south Alexandria. I was just a seaman but the others were less than that. It made a big difference in pay as I came to find out. "Dear Mom, yesterday I did not know what a sailor was, now I are one."

After completeing "boot camp" we were housed in the "transit barracks" where 240 men were awaiting orders to see what their duty station would be. Each day a list would be posted with the names and duty stations. I checked each day and my name did not show up.

While in the transit barracks I was assigned to the base builder, a Petty Officer 2nd class. He was an easy-going fellow. He ask me if I could "swing a hammer?" I said, "Oh hell yeah." Well, I ended up building backstops for the ball field and wood fences around the garbage barrels that were used in the mess hall. You talk about garbage... Holy cow, the stench was overwhelming. I needed a little help one day holding a plank vertically so I grabbed the first boot I saw to give me a hand, he was more than willing. About this time the boot pusher came out and started running his mouth. I looked him over, not wanting to create a scene, and just stood there and tapped my left arm repeatedly. He finally got the idea that I out-ranked him. He walked away mumbling to himself. I finished the job and jumped into the truck that the 2nd class allowed me to drive.

After three weeks and no name on the on the duty list, I began to worry that I was going to remain at the Great Lakes. The assignments carried sailors all over the world: Holy Loch, Scotland; Anchorage, Alaska; and Rota, Spain just to name a few. There was three of us left in the transit barracks when I finally got my orders: Proceed to San Diego and join the Pre-com detail for the USS Somers (DDG) 34. By this time, I had a beautiful set of dress blues with a shine on my shoes that you could see your reflection in. Now I are a sailor in every sense of the word. With orders in hand and a plane ticket to San Diego I headed for O'Hare for the last time in my life.

I arrived in San Diego where it was 87 degrees...I was burning up. I went to the base locator and was told that my ship was in the second cubicle on the left. Once there i was greeted by Bosun's mate, Chief Cooper. His first words to me was "you are out of uniform." In San Diego, the uniform of the day was dress whites. Back to another transit barracks where there was 6 members of the crew in a barrack that could hold a hundred men. These were all rated men (1st thru 3rd class Petty officers). I made friends quickly. I returned to Chief Cooper's domain only to find him chewing his fingernails. He asked me if I was a "Yeoman type," to which I said yes. I asked him what was the problem and he said "I have to put about a hundred men through navy schools." I said, "No problem, Chief, I will take care of it for you." From that point on, I had the Chief in the palm of my hand.

The schools were chemical, atomic, and biologic classes and some top secret schools for radarmen, sonarmen, and fire control techs. We were averagin' 5-7 men per day signing on. Before long, I had 4 rated yeomen working for me which allowed me to come and go as I pleased. The Chief never turned me down to duck out for the day and at times longer. While in San Diego, I visited Chula Vista and further south into Mexico. Tijuana and Ensenada on the coast were favorite drinking locations. My friend Waller from Sacremento was my running mate. Our first trip into Tijuana was to eat tacos, we ate 25 of those tasty little treats. We did not drink alcohol at the time.

We had an oppertunity to visit Linda's Cathouse. I will stop there. I saw the woman and Donkey show, a 30 ft. bar with the urinal in front of you and other eye-opening happenings.

Back to the real world: Chief Cooper said the XO [Executive Officer] is coming down and he is not happy with you. It appears that I went over his head to the base Commander to get the authorization to put critical rates in to Top Secret schools. None to happy when he got there, he pissed me off and I looked at the 2nd class working for me and told him to "put me in classes." Up to this point I had not gone through any of them. Oddly enough, he was from my hometown of Arlington, Va. LtCDR Ailes. I was spit and shine and my uniform was spotless. He did not bust my cookies as I thought. He did however let me know that he was pissed at me. I had done a superb job of getting about 100 sailors through these classes and schools. The Chief stood up for me as he damn well should have. He was not chewing his nails any longer.

While in San Diego, I acquired a taste for country music, mostly Hank Williams. Nothing worse than seeing a sailor crying in his beer. We were anxiously awaiting to meet up with our new home, the U.S.S. Somers in San Francisco.


More Navy Tales (1966-1967)
In the military, you lose track of time...except your discharge date. The night before departure to San Francisco, my running mate Waller and I tied one on. The next morning we had a hangover to beat all hangovers.

At this point I will digress to advancement in rate. Keep in mind that you had to take a test to advance in rate. The criteria is time in rate, practical factors, and Navy military standards. I went up for rate as a Yeoman 3rd class. Chief Cooper signed for me to take the test in San Diego. I passed the test with a 96% and was quoted. The tests are given fleet-wide. "Quoted" means that there were grades higher than yours. Say there was 250 billets open, that means that 250 sailors made a higher grade than me. Not making it jacked my jaws.

We departed SD in the early morning hours with 60% of the crew. I knew all of them, having checked each one in to the Somers. It was the worst plane trip I have ever taken and only my pride kept me from barfing. I was a light-weight when it came to drinking. Sailors are notorious for the ability to drink and function. World class.

The entire plane was filled with our crew. We landed in San Francisco International and were bussed to Hunters Point Naval Shipyard. In route, we travelled through some slums; you would not want to be on foot there in uniform. The uniform of the day in SF was dress blues. Yepper, another uniform change. We were ushered to our sleeping quarters. It was a small room with bunk beds 3 deep. We stowed our gear under our racks (beds). The tops opened like a lid exposing an area large enough to accomodate all you gear except you P-coat which went into the P-coat locker. The mattress was about 5 inches thick. We were issued "fart sacks", the Navy version of a sheet. You simply put you mattress in the sack. Trust me, it's not like Momma's sheets.

There is always a roll call to make sure no one went missing. The "water closet" shower stalls and head (toilet) is where I met my lifelong friend, Ron Botts. We were shaving and he said it was difficult to shave around his adams apple. I suggested that he simply move the skin over to the side, shave it and let the skin flop back. At the time, we did not work with each other and he bunked directly across from me.

I was assigned to work in the Engineering office with SPCM Griggs, LtJG Moran and the Chief Engineering Officer. The office was the size of a cell in the Pen. The ship had not been recomissioned as yet as work continued on all aspects of the ship. There were 2 aircraft carriers and our destroyer in the shipyard. The Commander of the shipyard always chewed on a cigar. He joined the Navy as a boot and advance to a Captain. No easy feat.

I stayed up at night in the Engineer's office and met Chief Laminach from Alabama. Every other word out of his mouth was the F word. I liked him, needless to say. He was in charge of the aft fireroom. He had been on the Somers since he was a boot. Very unusual, once you make Chief, the Navy transfers you to a different duty station. Laminach knew every valve, noise, machinery, and maintainence that went on in the fireroom. I'm a little ahead of myself. I voiced to the Chief that i was unhappy working in the office with Griggs and the Engineering Officer. They both crapped Navy and never was happy with anything that I did no matter how good the quality of work.

Ship's work stopped at 1600 hours which allowed for other activities. I got into boxing. I have one thing to say about that: No matter how big and bad you are, there is someone bigger and badder. You might say that I learned boxing lying on my back in the ring. I weighed 167 lbs. That is one bad weight class. I recall that I had a match with a guy named Bernard, he weighed in at 210. It was a preliminary and I jabbed him with my left until his face was red. He hit me so hard my whole body went limp. Yepper, on the floor again. My shoulders had strawberries on them where he had missed my head. Never go toe-to-toe with some guy that out-weighs you. Please remember that the gloves are padded, not like pro gloves. My second bout was with a sailor that was an AAU weightlifting champ. His name is Haverly, great guy. He weighed in at 140 or so. He was constant movement, he hit me so many times I thought I was a punching bag. I hit him one time and he went down - for about 2 seconds - then he continued to beat on me. There were other bouts. I was disqualified for using my feet a couple of times. That was a result of previous karate training.

On one Friday night, we had a smoker. Double elimination tournament. I beat my opponents on points and lost to a Mexican Indian from Colorado. He pounded me and I went down many times. I had one more match and won, then I had to face this guy again. Aragon was his name and he was also a BT, out of the forward fireroom. The carrier sailors took a beating that night. Aragon pounded me again and when I went down he said, "Why don't you stay down?" I think i remember saying "not on your life" He won and we became good friends.


Still More Navy Tales (1967-1968)
Chief Laminach became a regular visitor to the engineering office to shoot the bull with me and drink coffee. He knew about my unhappiness and finally ask me if I wanted to work in the fireroom? I jumped at the opportunity. The first thing you have to do, he said, is "get rid of those white stripes and get yourself stripes of red." I told him that I would put in a chit to take the Fireman test. Without benefit of a text to study from, the Engineering Officer okayed the chit without looking at them. He rarely read them. The Chief said that he had a sorry ass in the "hole" that he would like to get rid of and that way I could lay a screwing on Griggs and the XO. He was reading my mind. He did say however that the EO and Griggs would keep me under the deck plates in the bilges for some time. I said, "It's okay, Chief, they can kill me but not eat me."

The day came to take the test and I was the first one done. The tests were graded on the spot and I had passed with a high score. The administrator said you are now a fireman. I could not wait to sew on my new stripes and did so within an hour. The next morning I showed up work as a fireman. I put in another chit to go to the fireroom. As you can see everything in the Navy has a chit involved that must be okayed by the section Officer. Both the EO and SPCM Griggs looked at me with disdain. Griggs said you have to get a replacement which was already in the works due to the collaboration between me and the Chief.

Two days later I was in the "hole", the aft fireroom. Sure enough the word came down to work my ass off. You could say that I learned the valves and piping from the bilge up. After learning the nomenclature of the fireroom, I had the pleasure of meeting the Babcock-Wilcox 1200 lb. boilers. We had two of these superheated steam boilers. The first job at hand was to do the "firesides", the worst job in the hole. We had to take the access panel off the front of the boiler, climb in donning coveralls and face and eye protection. Damn was it hot! Also very tedious work scraping the residue off the tubes inside. After all the work was done we "buttoned" it up. Laminach stepped in again and told Griggs that I did the work of two men and that to keep me under the deck plates was a waste of manpower. Thanks Chief.

Don't think for a minute that the Chief and I were good buddies. He was on my ass constantly as well as the others. I was assigned an area to keep clean and I had it sparkling, he said "do it again". This when I actually met Ron Botts. As time went by my confidence grew in his ability to operate the power plant. The boiler function was controlled automatically via a control panel. Ron had the plan. After a while we laughed alot. I believe at the time Ron was a 2nd class BT. It really made no difference. Everyone had a job to do. We had Crazy Eddie, Hall, Quinton, and Weird Wally...just to name a few in the "hole". They were some strange birds and each had a story. Quinton was from Oklahoma and a man of few words. He was a four year man who would not go up for rate. He used to say, "I don't want to take the responsibility" yet he knew all about the operation of this specialized plant. Quinton was 6' 4" and skinny as a rail. Crazy Eddie, I need not say more.

As time went on, we saw the Chief less and less because he had confidence in his crew. I showed interest in the plant and found myself do the work of a BT2. I was the top watch and in control of pumps. The steam that was produced drove our propeller shaft. The top watch was stationed on the second floor of the fireroom and maybe 7-8 steps down the ladder to the boiler deck and control panel. When the water pump would cease operation, I could clear the steps in a split second to assure we had water going into the tubes of the boiler. While standing top watch there was a ventilation pipe 18 inches round that piped in 100 degree air and it felt cool.

Many days passed and Ron and I started spending more time with each other. There were days when Ron was on the console and I was top watch. Just the two of us. My initiation into the fireroom was not complete until I was told by the Chief to go to the foreward fireroom and get a "bucket of steam". Even as a "boot engineer" I knew that it did not exist. So I visited other areas of the ship to see some of the sailors I checked in from SD. When I got back two hours later the Chief asked me where the hell I had been? I told him that the steam went up in the air and I returned the bucket to the foreward fire room. He laughed and called me "a dumb f...ing college boy."