The rapid expansion of the Armed Forces to meet the manning requirements of the Korean Conflict brought welcomed promotion opportunities. I was promoted to Petty Officer First Class my first try and was full of myself. Yet, having a design engineering and construction oriented career path for which there were no shipboard billets, I had not been to sea, nor had I been aboard ship. Being a sailor and a member of the United States Navy for five years I was somewhat embarrassed with my lack of sea experience as every young sailor wants to be thought of as “salty.” That would soon change…
I was assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion One [NMCB-1]. The battalion had movement orders and all support materials were packed, crated and on the pier for transit. The heavy construction equipment had already been placed on an LST and the ship along with Alpha Company’s personnel had set sail with the morning tide. The main body was awaiting the arrival of the USS OLMSTEAD APA 188, an attack troop transport that would take us to our deployment site.
To pass the last hours before mounting out, we lolled about on the barracks steps listening to records, shooting the breeze and soaking up rays. A few sat moodily contemplating what lay ahead; others wrote those last minute letters. On the top step, an old LP record of the INK SPOTS was turning in warped circles on Joe Brantley’s windup record player. The lead singer, in his trademark rolling high pitched voice was singing something about, “…not wanting to set the world on fire…”
Bart Tucker, our self-appointed court jester suddenly stood up. Emoting with exaggerated theatrics, he began to mock the bass singer whose style was speaking, rather than singing the lyrics. With a devilish smile, Bart lowered his voice, “I just wanted to spark a great big flame in your sweet little bootie, honey-child…baby doll!” This broke the pensive mood and we all joined in mimicking the famous WWII era singing group.
To the strains of “We Three, we’re all alone…” George Watson, the Postal Clerk pulled up in the duty pickup following his mail-run to the main base. Someone piped up, “Hey, Lonesome George got any juicy letters for the lovesick?” Disgruntled be the continuous badgering about mail, George replied, “Hell no! [Shaking out the empty mailbag] there’s been no mail for three days and you dumb asses all know that…but you ask just to bust my chops! The NPO is forwarding it to our new address. So listen up all you limp-weenies who are lucky enough to know a girl that can write…you won’t have to worry about “Dear Johns” or she’s knocked-up for a while!”
His mood changed to excitement, shouting so all in the area could hear, “No mail boys, but our ships in! The OLMSTEAD is docked at the auxiliary pier. I watched them tie-up while I was Mainside!” Coming up to the steps he continued, “Got to talk to a couple of the crew that were handling lines. They told me she’s a lousy feeder, so stock-up on sardines, Vienna sausage, crackers and stuff like that.” Being the first time aboard ship, we all agreed stocking up was a good idea. We had no idea the seamen were having a little fun with some dry-land tadpole, knowing most troops they transported got seasick.
In the background, the record began to skip, “My Diana, Diana, Diana…” Joe slammed the lid saying, “Let’s go get a couple of brews at the canteen, it will be our last chance to quaff a few suds for a spell. Besides, I ain’t heard any sea stories in a while. Knowing you guys it only takes sniffing a bottle cap to get you started!”
The following morning at sunrise we mustered in battalion formation on the fog-shrouded pier. Unseen in the dense mist was a small volunteer band playing off-key, as the drum boomed out flat hollow notes due to the excessive moisture. With “We’re the Seabees of the Navy” echoing off the side of the ship, the order came to board. We marched off single file up the gangway to our berthing assignments.
As Squad Leader, First Squad, First Platoon, H Company, I lead off the embarkation. The platoon was assigned transit berthing space directly beneath the forecastle or foc’sle…we learned later our spaces were the worst possible place in heavy seas. Descending the ladder, we entered a large dimly lit cubicle. Dank and musty, it was covered in patches of rust and gray peeling paint. The space was filled with tier upon tier of dirty canvas covered metal bunk frames stacked from the deck to the overhead. There was just enough space between bunks to slide in sideways. It was not a pretty sight…
Along the starboard side of the space was a long U-shaped metal trough with wooden toilet seats spaced along its length. Seawater ran through it to remove the waste. A number of basins with cracked mirrors hung on the adjacent bulkhead. This was head facility for a sixty-man company.
At the foot of the ladder Bart stopped in his tracks, looked around, and with an exaggerated gesture shouted, “Holy crap…is this a Navy ship? I wasn’t expecting to be sailing First Cabin on the Queen Mary, but the Navy must have raised the Titanic for this trip! Ain’t anybody been in this hole since D-Day!” Trying not to show my own disgust, I told Bart and the other squad members we would only be aboard a short time and would make the best of the situation. Further reminding them that we had all been bellyaching for some sea duty…Can-do Seabees can hack anything! I took the third rack up and assigned the squad the remaining bunks in the first tiers.
The first day out was pleasant and uneventful, spirits were high. Most of the men were lounging about on the forward main deck. Some looked at the sea and the dolphins that would occasionally race and frolic along side. Others were sitting about the deck in small groups playing cards or snoozing on blankets. As members of Operations, Bart, Joe and I were in the gloomy transit admin spaces working on crew assignments and work schedules for the battalion’s pending operating commitment. We were envious of those loitering on deck enjoying the sun and invigorating sea air.
The ship was not the bad feeder we had been lead to believe as our battalion cooks and mess men supplemented the ship’s galley staff. The mess-deck was one level down, amidships. It was initially a popular place…no one missed mess-call. We joked of selling our supply of sardines and sausages to those disgruntle ship’s company line-handler.
During the night the seas picked-up and the ship began to rise, fall and yaw. It would shutter as it slid of to the side and then right itself. Being in the bow section, the motion was exaggerated many fold. At reveille most of us had trouble climbing from our bunks. Standing was difficult as none had developed “sea legs” to adjust to the movement of the ship. Many grew uneasy, experiencing an inner discomfort that was very foreign. When “chow” was piped, it was with extreme trepidation that I fell in the mess-line which was sparse compared to the previous day. The usual chatter and horseplay was non-existent. As the line moved adjacent to the scullery, one of the unfortunate souls scouring metal trays in the steaming deep sinks turned ashen, tossing-up large quantities of a multi-colored substance into the pile of scattered trays…
Joe and I retched, grabbed our mouths and raced up the ladder to the main deck. On reaching the rail, we convulsed until we had intermittent “dry heaves,” bringing up nothing but air. These bouts lasted for what seemed eternity. Finally, after up-chucking what I recognized as assorted candies from a ninth-grade Halloween party, I knew the end was near…I began to see “the bright light!” Would I be the first Bluejacket to succumb to the curse of the sea, the dreaded Mal de Mer? I began to chant, “Oh dear God, I’m dying here! Help me Jeezz-us, [retch] please, sweet Jeezz-us, [retch] save my miserable soul…”
Joe raised his head from the railing; a string of sputum was hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Button it up Ed, Jesus ain’t listening…just me, and in my condition I can’t stand your pitiful whining, so can it!” He suddenly gulped, arched forward, and with a deep moaning retch grabbed the seat of his pants, “Oops! I think I just had an unauthorized pit-stop in my skivvies!” With that, Joe joined in the Jeezz-us chant…
Looking at Joe’s sallow features, the slime still hanging from his contorted face, I saw a reflection of myself. In an effort to lighten our agonizing predicament, I stood erect, threw my shoulders back, faked a broad smile and nudged Joe in the side. Glancing at my pathetic attempt, he rolled his eyes back in his head…we both laughed and struggled to regain some composure. I though, the next smart ass s-o-b that mentioned sea duty to me, was going to get those sardines inserted in his chocolate orifice!
Although the seas were rough, the day was clear and the cool sea breezes seemed in time to ease our distress. Our buddy Bart, who had not been sick, spotted us at the rail. Not to miss an opportunity to stick it to us, he called out sarcastically, “Ahoy, Barf Brothers…you boys hungry?” I managed to give him the finger. “Now, now, I noticed you missed noon chow, and as a good shipmate, I thought you would like me to go below and get some of those tasty mustard packed sardines you stocked-up on. We retched again, grabbing our aching abs…Bart laughing said, “I take that’s a no…I’ll tell the Ops Officer you’ve been reassigned to painting the side of the ship.” He followed with a low thespian bow and a sweeping wave of his cap, “To you my fellow Denizens of the deep, I bid you a fond farewell…ta ta!”
Two of the ship’s cooks had stepped out on deck earlier. One was large, portly and middle-aged, the other much younger, probably a Striker, carried a large floppy cook’s cap filled with what appeared to be fried chicken and biscuits. The older man observing, but ignoring us, leaned on the rail, gazed out at the horizon and related to his apprentice how he enjoyed coming topside to watch the ever-changing vista of the sea...it was one of the things he loved about navy life.
He reached into the cap, pulled out a piece of chicken, took a few bites and tossed the bone over the side. With crumbs smeared across his broad greasy face and the half-eaten meat clinched between his teeth, he turned to Bart. Smiling broadly to show the partially chewed flesh, he extended the food-stained cap, “Lad, you look a bit undernourished, would you like some of the Olmstead’s finest cuisine to put a little meat on your bones?”
Bart looked into the cap, then at the old cooks face, turned a vivid green, grabbed the rail and tossed his lunch! Joe mockingly slurred, “It is truly an honor for us to be sharing the rail with a real sailor.” I followed, “Yes, Bart’s a real crusty old barnacle; it’s like having King Neptune himself here by our side. I’m so very proud to share this moment…” Bart embarrassed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, “Shut up Eddie! Just shut up, you too Joe, I must be getting a flu-bug or something!” The old cook gave me a wink and returned below…
As the afternoon approached dusk, the seas continued to build with the winds increasing to near gale force. Gusts began whistling through the ship’s superstructure and rigging emitted a low moaning hum. The sounds became eerie. The skies along the horizon blackened and angrily rolled. The Captain informed the ship of impending weather and ordered all transient personnel to their assigned quarters, securing all exterior doors and hatches.
Conditions continued to worsen into the night. The ship reacting to the storm’s fury, would rise out of the water, shutter from stem to stern, yaw, and then drop off the crest into deep troughs on the backside. The bow would bury itself into the oncoming wave plowing through it in violent contortions. I lay on my back on the cold moldy canvas gripping the bunk frame with all my strength, my hands cramped in pain. The close spacing of the bunks helped keep me in place. As the ship plunged, I would be thrown upward into the bottom of the bunk above, bashing my nose and forehead.
The sounds of the ocean breaking over the ship, mixed with loose equipment ramming bulkheads, set up an indescribable din. Waste from the latrine washing back and forth with the ship’s violent contortions sloshed out across the now slimy deck. The odors, sights and sounds became horrendous. Either, through raw fear or adapting to the ships motion, I had not been sick since crawling into the bunk. I felt capable, yet powerless to help my comrades…all anyone could do was hang on and wait out the storm. It was a seemingly endless nightmare…
Over the next decade, I would sail again on APAs, LSTs, LSDs, and the Military Sea Transport Service ships, but never again would I face the experience of my maiden voyage at sea. In the 1960s with the Defense Department’s adaptation of the Rapid Deployment concept using commercial 707s and huge military C series aircraft, a new era began and ship movements of large bodies of troops basically came to and end.
To this day, though dated, the INK SPOTS remain one of my favorite singing groups. Their harmony rarely heard today can spark a memory returning me to the days of my youth and those endearing shipmates who are remembered with gentle enduring fondness… “Got Sardines?”