Adventures In Navyland. Joe Psy.D. Callihan

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СКАЧАТЬ this momentous event? As my luck would have it, I was outside on the bridge. The Chief Signalman used high powered binoculars to read the relayed signal light messages coming from one of the three other ships accompanying us in the convoy.

      Earlier the other ships had been engaged in the use of high powered spying equipment, on the mountainous caves off the coast of Cuba. It was said they had been watching Guerilla training camps, getting head counts and marking positions. Now they were signaling the information to the Greenwood, as we were the flag ship, carrying onboard the Admiral of the sixth naval District. The Signalman would give me letter after letter as I copied the coded message.

      I was on mid watch, which meant I would have to be awake from midnight until eight A.M. After eight I was free to go to bed. But wait a minute! I had the top bunk, and we still were listing heavily (around 45 degrees) from side to side. I was exhausted, but when I’d almost fall asleep, a wave would hit and I would almost fall out of my bunk. I had to hold on to those pipes above my head to keep from having a serious fall. So sleep escaped me. Was I thrilled I had so brilliantly chose to join the Navy!

      In about two hours, the seas calmed down. We had at last passed the Windward Passage, and the sea was now much calmer. This was at around 10 A.M.; I slept until around 1 P.M., when all of the commotion and excitement going on around me woke me up.

      We were pulling into Guantanamo Bay. As we were docking a voice came over the ships intercom, announcing liberty would be given, and a bus was waiting to take any wanting to visit the Marine Exchange store.

      I had heard from the seasoned veterans about these Exchange stores abroad. It was said you could purchase items at a fraction of what they would cost in the states. This intrigued me so as tired as I was, I decided to board the bus and visit the Marine Exchange. I felt a little woozy as I walked off the ship to board the bus.

      It was a relative short drive to the Exchange. It was high up on a hill. You could look down and see the area where we were docked, beside the other ships in our convoy. I went inside to check out the prices and items for sale. Much to my amazement, I found I was still on that rocking boat. I would take one step forward, then a wave would hit, and I would go two steps backward. This is crazy, I was thinking. I’m not onboard that ship, I’m on dry land. There are no waves here! Yet somehow, despite what I knew and was telling myself, the reality of my situation seemed to escape me. I just could not stop these waves from rolling in and sending me off balance.

      I looked down at the floor which was tiled with one foot square black and white vinyl tiles. I was standing at the record rack, holding on for balance. I would still rock back and forth as the waves came and went. I observed the look of horror and shock on the faces of the women. They apparently were wives and daughters of the men stationed there, I knew from their looks just what they were thinking. “How could they allow this drunken Sailor in the store?”

      I knew from my rocking actions, it would be futile for me to try and tell them I was not drunk, in fact I don’t even touch the stuff. I thought I’m embarrassed enough; I’ll just buy a record and be on my way. Eager to get out of there, I picked out a record and proceeded to the front register to pay for it. Arriving, the lady at the cash register rang up my sale and informed me how much I needed to pay. As I reached into my wallet and pulled out a twenty to give to the lady I was still being hit by the waves. Unfortunately, when she reached to take the twenty from my hand, a big wave came along and I pulled away from her.

      She missed catching the bill from my hand. The next wave caused me to rock back toward her. So I called out, “Quick, grab the money!” She did, successfully this time. But when she went to give me change, another wave pulled me away. I had to wait for the return motion to once more fall toward her. Quickly I grabbed the change from her hand, and then made my retreat from that store as fast as I could. As I departed, I could hear all the women laughing at what had just happened inside.

      I could have waited for another bus to take me back to the ship. But instead I was determined to walk this thing off. There was a sidewalk, so I started following it down toward the docks. As I walked, just like in the store, the sidewalk rose up and then went down. I would kind of stumble along like a drunk. All the while I kept telling myself, this isn’t really happening, I’m on dry land!

      I observed the signs which were posted, each warning me not to stray off the sidewalk, as there were land mines planted in the grass. Had I been a drunk, I may not have been around today to tell this funny story, and Guantanamo Bay might have been short one land mine. Anyway, as I was making my way, I began to feel exhausted, and was sweating due to the warm weather in Cuba. At that moment a truck load of Marines showed up to rescue me. It was one of those trucks they use to transport troops. There were about a dozen Marines in the back. Stopping the truck they asked if I would like a ride back to my ship.

      I eagerly said, “Thanks, I sure would.” “Come on, hop in,” said the Marines, even offering me a hand up. I spoke with them as we drove to the docks. We built up some rapport as I told them about my adventures and the look on the women’s faces at the Exchange. They asked me to point out which ship below was mine. I did, and they pulled up on the dock in front of my ship and let me off. Thanking them again and wishing them good luck with their tour of duty, I proceeded up the plank to get back onboard.

      One of the old salts, a veteran of WWII, seeing me get out of the truck and coming aboard called out to me. “Hey Callihan! Tell me I didn’t see what I just watched. You got out of a truckload of Marines? Didn’t anyone warn you about these Marines?” I was thinking he must be referring to the rivalry which is tradition among the Navy and Marines. So I answered, “Yes Ed, they were a nice group of guys. They gave me a ride back to the ship.” To this Ed replied, “You Dummy, didn’t you get the word about the Marines stationed here?”

      Obviously not, so I asked, “What word?” Ed then enlightened me. “The Marines stationed here are bored to tears. They have a reputation of offering Sailors a ride back to their ship, then kidnapping them, holding them in their barracks till after their ship sails. You are one lucky dumb Sailor!” I don’t know for sure. But I think my Irish wit and my ability to laugh at myself may have saved me from that fate. The way I spoke of my embarrassment at the Marine Exchange, they probably felt sorry for me, that I’d been through enough. Whatever the reason, I thanked them for the ride back to the Greenwood. See, it just proves sometimes the Navy and Marines can and do help one another.

      THE CUBAN ADVENTURE CONTINUES!

      After docking, Navy divers with Hookah diving equipment went to work closing all the leaks we had developed while crossing the Windward Passage. I learned the guys down in the bilges, (where I might have been working, had I not spoken up) were walking around with their pant legs rolled up. They were said to have been knee deep in water. So that first day was spent draining out the sea water from below, and welding the ship back together.

      The next day the Greenwood was pronounced sea worthy. It was now time to go out for gunnery practice. This proved to be very interesting. A plane came by towing a drone target. First the forward gun turret took some shots at the drone. To everyone’s delight they scored a good many hits. Next it was time for the rear gun turret to take some shots at the target. One loud BANG was heard. The turret leaped into the air, about five feet off the deck. When it came back down, the men inside came running out shouting, “That’s enough of that!” Did I forget to mention, the USS Greenwood was a destroyer escort from WW II days? It was now the mid sixties.

      HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO STEER?

      “Joe, how would you like to try steering the ship?” This was the question the First Class Quartermaster put to me. Up until that time the only thing I had done was copy the messages dictated by the Signalman, and write the ship’s СКАЧАТЬ