USS Yorktown CV-10 StoriesRSS feed for all messages.RE: USS Yorktown Underway<p>I was like Pat came aboard in Dec 64 in Sasabo Japan. I was first assigned to V-3 then trasferred to V-6. The account Pat gave was pretty much spot on. I hope to visit the Yorktown during one of the reunions.</p>
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2020-01-11T23:44:45-04:00USS Yorktown UnderwayRE: THULE GREENLAND<p>The ID is a great addition, Willie!</p>
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2016-05-22T16:26:14-04:00THULE GREENLANDRE: The Picture<p> </p>
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<strong>Willie Lagarde wrote:</strong></p>
<div class="quotedText">The picture at the top of this page is USS Yorktown aka “The Fighting Lady” returning home from the fight on Oct 20,1945. She had been gone a year. Looking scruffy because she didn’t have too much time to get pretty for the occasion. Look closely and see the pilot boat delivering the pilot to guide her under the Golden Gate bridge and through the bay to be moored at Alameda NAS. Much of her crew are lining the rails, not by order but to see and hear a boat loaded with mostly service women and a band playing, “It’s been a long, long time.” “It was a great day!!” That picture alone justifies a place on the internet for this website.</div>
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2016-05-21T12:01:42-04:00The PictureThe Old Marineby Willie Lagarde
Reading about the atrocities and cruelty endured by some of our people during the war brought to mind an experience I had in San Francisco.
It was October 1945 and we were at Hunter’s Point NSY where Yorktown was being prepared to carry troops.
Three of us had rented a hotel room in San Francisco and I had gone there about 5 PM to stow some of my gear then went out to walk around the city killing time until my two shipmates were due to show up for a night on the town with three girls we had met two days before.
Waiting on the curb for a light to change I saw what I thought what must have been the oldest Marine in the Corps in his dress blues.
He was a first sergeant with stripes and hash marks almost completely covering his sleeve.
He asked if I was on a ship and when I told him yes he wanted to know which one. I wondered if he had a son or kid brother in the Navy. He then asked if I knew of a place nearby where he could get a drink and would I care to join him, "I'm buying".
Yes I did, it was one of the places we intended to go with the girls. They had a small dance floor and live entertainment, usually a three or four piece band and a singer. Even though it was very early in the evening the place was already crowded, mostly with soldiers. San Francisco during these times always had a large number of service men passing through, some coming back to the world after years overseas. Yorktown would soon join that armada of ships bringing these people home.
After two soldiers offered to share their booth with us he ordered a round of drinks. The soldiers were in awe of the Marine as was I. He looked like he had fought in every battle in the war but we would learn what he faced may have been even worse. He wanted beer and the rest of us ordered mixed drinks. He wouldn’t let anybody spend any money.
He told us he had plenty of it because he had been a POW since Dec 7 1941 and had back pay coming for all those years.
He had been in the Legation Guard at Peiping China , was in his early thirties when the war broke out and was taken prisoner by the Japs. We all knew the ordeal our men suffered in the hands of the Japs and didn't ask any questions when all he said was; it was a "tough time". He had just been released from the hospital and was on his first stateside liberty alone. It was obvious from his appearance the years as a prisoner had taken it's toll and I judged him to be ten or fifteen years older than he actually was.
He had loved a girl in China and had hoped to marry her someday but now had little hope of ever finding her again. His adoptive parents had died years ago and he knew of no living relatives
He told us of all the songs he heard on the radio while in the hospital, "It's been a long, long time" was his favorite.
Since I was sitting to the outside of the booth he gave me a dollar and wanted me to ask the singer if she would sing it. A dollar then was like fifteen dollars today and was probably a days pay for some people in the forties.
When I asked if she would sing the song for an "old Marine who had spent the entire war in a prison camp", I couldn't believe what she said to me; "you tell him POW or AWOL it doesn’t make any difference, it will cost him five dollars".
As I was telling her what I thought of her the band members became hostile and drummer pushed his drums aside and came at me. I caught his full weight as he jumped off the approximately 18" high stage or platform and swung at me. He missed as I pulled back and he fell to the floor. My main concern at that moment was my tailor made uniform I had bought in Seattle and had only worn a few times.
One of the soldiers occupied the drummer and before I could react to another man the second soldier grabbed him and threw him to the floor. The other two band members stayed put and the singer was yelling.
I noticed the Marine was drinking his beer seemingly above it all. I expected some form of law enforcement to arrive shortly and decided since the Army had the situation well in hand it was time to leave. I picked up my hat, bid him farewell and left.
When I got about a half block away I checked my condition. Uniform showed no sign of battle damage, wallet was in place as were the cigarettes and loose change in top pocket.
Making my way to the hotel I saw a jeep carrying an MP and SP heading to the scene of battle.
As I turned the corner on Powell street I saw my two shipmates who wanted to know; "where the hell have you been".
"I’ll tell you later, right now we got time, we got money and we got liberty. Let’s go get the broads".
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2016-05-17T21:06:09-04:00The Old MarineRE: First Night Ashore<p>Great story, Willie! Thanks for sharing....</p>
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2016-05-16T22:39:51-04:00First Night AshorePilot Down... Abort!<div class="t_form">
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<div><font face="Arial" size="2">by Pat Dingle</font></div>
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<div><font face="Arial" size="2">While on station patrolling the Gulf of Tonkin waters off North Vietnam, CIC stayed at our modified general quarters by a rotating of watches with 7 hours on, 5 off, 5 on, 7 off every day of the week for up to two months continually at sea. I was like most of our guys who ate in the mess hall once a day and the rest of our food came from going through the hamburger/hotdog line in a forward gallery that stayed open 23 hours a day. It closed for a hour from 2300 to 2400 hours for cleaning. We'd grab a burger kept warm by heat lamps, add whatever condiments tasted good to us, walk over to the drink dispenser for coffee or powdered milk if we were going to eat it there on some stools or we'd eat on our way up a number of decks to CIC. If enough of guys on duty were hungry we'd send a seaman down to get the burgers for us. We had our own 30 cup coffee maker filled often each shift. With four or five hours sleep, stand watch, repeat, spread out over twenty four hours, we stayed alert enough and the system really worked well. Devised by some wise Chief during a past war or two no doubt.</font></div>
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<div><font face="Arial" size="2">I came on duty in the air section on one such day and was briefed by the radarman I was relieving on a downed pilot rescue underway in the jungles of North Vietnam. We were monitoring it over the radio headset tuned into that particular frequency our Sea King helicopters used but we ourselves were not directly involved at this point in the rescue. Our duty was the very first step in an operation, we're the first to detect and identify where an aircraft gets hit and general location where it goes down below our radars and pass the data on. The pilots carried a beeper that sent out a signal as to their location for the rescue crews to work from. We were not involved at that point other then monitoring if we chose to and if we had the time. I had the time as I sat down on the scope and put the headset on. One pilot, strong beeper signal, two helicopters, one jungle miles in from the coast and another hour of daylight. I listen intently to learn who the voices in my ear belong to. They should have him any minute now I thought. Nothing but static in my ear then "I see him, he's on this hill waving his arms, jumping up and down, he's OK". </font></div>
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<div><font face="Arial" size="2">I can't began to describe the feelings I felt at that moment. I'm still focusing my attention on my air search radar for other aircraft in trouble or bogies as duty demanded but hearing we got one alive really gave me a rare good feeling, most of the time it didn't work out like this and seldom do I get to monitor a rescue. The lead helicopter is over him but radios the trees are too thick there to safely lower the sling and bring him up. Just then the second bird radioed he's taking ground fire. The first one reports he is too then ABORT, ABORT, ABORT came over the air. As they climb for altitude one of the two radioed there must be a hundred NVA at the base of the small hill firing up at them. The soldiers were making their way up the hill towards the pilot as dusk set in and the two helicopters returned to the Yorktown some fifty-seventy five miles away. I felt sick at heart. All I could think of was that American pilot on the ground watching his rescuers fly away, abanding him to his fate and what must be going through his mind. I really felt for that man and here I am all comfortable and safe aboard a ship. There was radio chatter for a while about coming back for him in the morning but of course hearing that trash talk only pissed me off more. In my mind I just kept saying you can't leave our man behind. I knew this was hard on me but no where nearly as hard as on our pilot. That was beyond my comprehension. I was in turmoil the rest of the watch and when relieved I went down to my rack where I couldn't shake it off or let go, tears came to my eyes in frustration and sense of betrayal but I didn't cry for him.</font></div>
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<div><font face="Arial" size="2">After a hour or two of restless sleep I was rudely woken in the dark as our man went around waking us up for the next watch in thirty minutes. And no, the shit, shower and shave thing only worked in boot camp, we were permitted to look scruffy and did. I was back in CIC by 0500 and traded stations with a guy so I could be on the same one I had five hours ago. I had to be here and hear the final verdict of this event. Maybe then I can let it go. Maybe. It's dawn now and several helicopters and prop fighters are approaching the hill where the downed airman was last seen about ten hours ago. I had no hopes of a recovery, not with that many NVA. In my mind the pilot is still being tortured by the commie bastards or was shot and killed last evening. The movies I watched growing up didn't have a clue as to the way it really is, and neither did I those first few times.</font></div>
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<div><font face="Arial" size="2">I was so obsessed within my circle of thoughts I was shocked to hear in the headset "There he is, he's OK". There was a lot more chatter but that's all I remember hearing. He's alive, the NVA didn't get him, he's OK, wow. I was so overwhelmed with relief I can't began to describe it. I have no idea who that American pilot was or what branch of service he belonged to. All I knew was that we went back and got him and that's all that mattered. One more thing, I'd like to meet that pilot today over a drink or two and try to find out which one of us had the worst night back in April 1965, him on a hill in North Vietnam or me on the Yorktown in the Gulf. But truth be known, I give it all to you and I salute you American pilot who ever you were. You earned it big time.</font></div>
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2016-05-16T14:37:14-04:00Pilot Down... Abort!There was Hong Kong<div class="t_form">
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<p>by Pat Dingle</p>
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I'm sure most of you are familiar with the sights, sounds, sensations and "tastes" of Hong Kong at one time or another during your service in west-pac and there's not really anything I could add to that. Or will. We've been there, done that. So I'll try to describe a liberty during the mid sixties that you may not have experienced. For thems what served after the Vietnam War, keep in mind that it was Red China then and our county's avowed enemy. Russia was supplying North Vietnam with all the sam missiles and other munitions but China too was supplying arms and providing sanctuary for the NVA's mig jets with bases just over their border. They were the "Chi-Com" and I tracked their jets and monitored their secret military signals for four years. Enroute to British Hong Kong for liberty always came with security briefings in OI division of heads up guys, keep your mouth shut while ashore, you never know who may be listening. And, CIC shut down in that harbor as in all others, except for our electronic counter measures equipment room (ECM). We stood watch in there 24/7 taking pictures of their spy stuff with our spy stuff.<br />
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We enjoyed Hong Kong and all it had to offer of course but there were times we'd take the harbor ferry over to the Kowloon side and taste the libations offered in those more up town bars over there. That was where many British families lived in very up scale homes behind tall rod iron fences on tree lined streets. It was a really nice clean area and what I imagined the English countryside must look like. The few Chinese walking on the streets in that neighborhood were household servants not coolies. Of course near the harbor itself in Kowloon were where all the Chinese laborers worked, ate, shopped and generally lived. Like Hong Kong this area was jammed packed with people too on very narrow alley like streets, like an ant hill only with warning signals that some will bite. Within an easy walking distance was the border with The Dreaded Enemy Chi-Com, Red China herself. I've walked up within spitting distance of the double fence line just to peer over into the enemies backyard many times and studied the landscape and people. Spat too but didn't pee in their general direction as my momma didn't raise no fool. Those border guards looked pretty tough and far better armed and focused then us, given our condition at those times. We'd just act ignorant, be mentally belly bumping them and sending universal hand signals. Generally we'd call it a win and turn around before they reacted by snatching our young American asses up and do the Manchurian Candidate on us.<br />
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I more often then not left my shipmates parked on a stool in a bar and did a walkabout wherever we happened to be in whatever country we happened to be in. Sitting on a radar scope for weeks, months, on end, I always just wanted to go exploring where my brighter shipmates dared not go. So I went alone, like back home in the endless desert walkabouts, it's just what I'd always do wherever I am. So, off the stool and out the door, look left, look right, and whatever sights intrigue me the most, steam that way. I could tell I was heading in the direction of the coolie enclave because of the shop fronts, products offered and lack of Caucasians in the neighborhoods if not by the stares alone. No one seemed at all hostile to my intrusion, they seldom did, so deeper into unknown territory to see the sights and whatever else I may happen upon in the narrow alleyways of a real "China Town". After about a hour or so I knew I was somewhere near the border of Chi-Com Country but couldn't yet see any real proof of it, just a feeling I had. Also had that old feeling of wanting to wet my whistle in a bar. It didn't take too long to spot the coke sign and just walk right in. This joint was small but had a bar with stools and tables about so I sat at the bar and the nice bartender came right up. There was a language barrier but when wasn't there one? I got my drink order in after about five minutes of waiving my arms and saying whiskey and 7-up, got the whiskey part but 7-up and coke were misinterpreted but no big deal, I could down it either way and have. I guess I'd been in there about a hour when the European man walked in.<br />
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This short stocky white guy about 40 years old comes in and sits at the bar several stools down from me and orders a Chinese beer. From the look on the bartender’s face I thought he must be a regular customer, others in there also recognized him. Midway through his glass the guy looked my way and nodded. I returned the nod. He then asked if I was an American? I knew right then he had an accent I'd never heard before in person, only in the movies. I pegged him as a middle eastern European type, looked kinda rough too. A big smile broke out on his face as he started telling me how much he liked Americans and ordered more drinks for me, in Chinese no less. This jovial fellow goes on to tell me he's a merchant seaman and his ship is in port to pick up cargo. By now he's moved down to the stool next to mine and kept ordering drinks for me. I thought I noticed there's a little more booze and less coke now. He asked if I was on that big aircraft carrier anchored in the harbor and I said yes. So did my arched patch on my sleeve facing towards him read USS Yorktown. He asked what I did aboard and I'd mumble something but my striker patch said it all, radar. Anyway we had a great conversation for a long time about how much we liked the Chinese and all. Their government over on the mainland could be better but the people were great etc. etc. We were singing the same hymn. I mentioned I've read a lot about Chairman Mao, the long march etc. and this guy was talking up a storm in agreement with everything I said. I was in hog heaven finding this old China hand in such a remote out of the way native bar. If BFF were used back then it would have applied to us. Line 'em up barkeep. That's when he mentioned he has many friends over the border that he visits with often, he knows some guards too and they let him go over to visit anytime he wants to, no paperwork, no hassle. He said why not the two of us go over right now, I'd get a big kick out of it and we'd be back here in a hour. Every time I heard it, even to this day, the hair on the back of my beck stands up.<br />
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General Quarters, General Quarters, This is NOT a Drill went off in my brain loud and clear. I looked at him perhaps a little slack jawed, maybe drooling a bit, saying that's a great idea, I'd love to go over inside the People's Republic, but I don't have time right now, I have to go back and stand watch in two hours. His smile turned to a frown as I fast talked my way out by telling him I'll meet him here tomorrow at noon and go over then, I'll have hours before I have to be back. I noticed then the natives in the joint were paying very close attention and there were more of them then a little while ago. I told Vladimir to be sure to be here because there's nothing I would like more then go over and meet the real Chinese people and show them we can be friends one on one. I made him promise to be back here at noon tomorrow as I kept looking at my watch and standing up. I could tell his mind was racing as he slowly, reluctantly agreed to this unwanted plan of the day. We shook on it and he broke back into his same old jovial self as I back out the door grinning like a moron at the thought of fulfilling my dream tomorrow. I was able to maneuver my way back to the area of Kowloon I was more versed in and what may be a little safer environment for a sailor on liberty. I did have thoughts that I would in fact like to go over the border and will one day but not tonight, my mind wasn't right for that caper now. But I will go over for a grip & grin and he might be the right guy to help me pull it off. Alcohol can have that effect on a teenager’s brain on rare occasions.<br />
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The next morning I did go back out on liberty as planed but musta forgot all about my big date at noon cause I got laid on the Hong Kong side and had a great dinner at Jimmy's Stake House, had fresh beef flown in daily from "Down under" or so they advertised. I hoped after we had gotten underway the following day that my new BFF wasn't too disappointed in his failure to capture an American sailor and turn me over to Them Chi-Com. Sometimes it's as much fun to foil a caper as it is to pull one off. If you get away with it as I did that night over on the Kowloon side.</p>
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2016-05-16T14:35:53-04:00There was Hong KongClose to Lift Off<div class="t_form">
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<p>by Pat Dingle</p>
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<p>It was in 1966 during our second ten month tour in the Gulf of Tonkin, and I’m learning to read, write and speak the Russian language. Me, whose first language is American slang. The class was held in a small space up in the fo’csle when nobody was around. Four years aboard the Yorktown and those classes were the first and last time I was ever up there. We students were notified on the same day a class would take place. The lessons were given by one of the ship’s doctors who happen to be of Russian heritage and fluent in the language. There were about six of us to start but it soon narrowed down to only three. The Air Intelligence Officer, I recall was a Commander, an enlisted guy and me, a new 3rd Class PO. The AIO and I had plans to join the CIA after life in the Navy, hence the class, so we quickly became friends. He worked just down the inboard passageway from CIC so I’d pop in to see him a lot when he was coming or going off watch by buzzing their outer door that was always locked and marked top secret. Mine was too but we didn’t have a buzzer.......low rent I guess. I’d regale him with some of my capers ashore over coffee that, as a big cheese, he couldn’t pull off. He always looked amazed or flabbergasted during those chats but now I’m thinking the look may have been more like a father stuck with a dumb son he can’t get rid of. But then I did have some amazing alone in native lands liberties. I wonder from time to time if he ever made it to Langley. I took a more domestic route involving adventure romance and intrigue.</p>
<p>One day I had mentioned to him that I always wanted to take off from the flight deck in an A-4 Skyhawk or really any aircraft for that matter. Well the AIO arranged for me to go up on patrol in one of our Sea King rescue helicopters about five day from then. Wow, a dream come true, I could hardly wait, it’s all I could think of. The next day or two one of our helicopters was shot down just off the North Vietnam coast. I was on duty in the air section of CIC when it happened. There was suddenly nothing on my scope. They just disappeared between sweeps. Chief Sorrel immediately manned the scope next to mine and that man stayed there for the next 24 hours searching for any sign of the craft in the water as only a Chief could. Our jets took off and also searched the area we knew it was last in, all to no avail. Prop aircraft continued to search the waters and then wreckage was spotted a few days after the shoot down. A helicopter was dispatched and recovered the torso of the pilot, still strapped in his seat. Other body parts were recovered from several of the crewmen. I remember the remains were stored down below in a freezer until a burial at sea was conducted a few days later with our Marine Honor Guard and ship’s crew. I watched it from across a hanger bay. Taps was played.</p>
<p>No, I never did take off from the Yorktown’s flight deck. They banned any and all non necessary personal from going up right after that. But this story isn’t about me, it’s about our airmen lost that day in 1966 in the Gulf of Tonkin. A day, during a time many years ago, that I’ll never forget.</p>
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2016-05-16T14:34:57-04:00Close to Lift OffNearly Captured<div class="t_form">
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<p>by Pat Dingle</p>
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<p>I'm guessing now but I think it was in 1966 on our second tour when the USS Yorktown was relived in the Gulf of Tonkin by another CVS for the search and rescue of pilots who could make it out near the coast or to the Gulf after being hit. We were ordered to steam south east to the ass end of the South China Sea to take part in a South East Asian Treaty Organization (S.E.A.T.O.) naval maneuvers with U.S., Pilipino, Australian, Thailand and England navy war ships. I gathered it was meant to reassure our allies and show the commies we're in full cooperation with each other. I recall I talked with the Brits and Aussies over the radio network from our respective Combat Information Centers (CIC) while conducting war games for about a week (I'm guessing our side won). At the end of the mixed fleet operations we all headed east to Subic Bay but instead of our normal berthing, we dropped anchor in the bay off Manila, along with the rest of the mixed bag of war ships, meaning we had to take our liberty boats ashore. If I recall correctly we landed right by the famous old Manila Hotel, an upscale landmark. There were about six of us guys from OI division going over together and I remember walking into that hotel with potted palms, doormen and tuxedos everywhere along with dirty glances from most guests and staff at us heathens. I took it that we're not the first sailors to sully the premises but didn't see the No Sailors sign posted anywhere. Still, we could take a hint (and no service) so we moved on until locating a bar more suited to our class of customer.<br />
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Seems the Manila Hotel also held a dim view of Aussie sailors because the first good joint we found was already full of them. I remember bellying up to the bar for the first of many 7-7s that night when one Aussie walked up to the one I'm sitting next to and said "Mate, I don't like your looks", hauled off and slugged him so hard in the face he dropped off the bar stool like he had been shot in the head. Sitting on his ass rubbing his jaw the Aussie on the floor replied "Neither do I mate", got up and bought his critic a drink. They were the best of buddies after that, and I'm sure long before. Shit, we're drinking with a rough crowd here and only six of us more civilized American sailors. Fate stepped in and soon we were buying them drinks almost as fast as they were buying us drinks, each with a toast. Shortly it came down to whose Navy sucked the most with examples of unfair use and abuse flying back and forth. But when it was revealed that your first hitch in the Aussie Navy was a mandatory twelve years, we immediately conceded that they and their Navy really sucked the most. Pleased upon hearing that they won the "Who Sucks The Most Contest" they bought more rounds for us six losers.<br />
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Late in the evening and God knows how much booze consumed, the diplomatic relations efforts between our two countries got around to whose Navy had the better looking uniforms. This time it was a tie, I thought they did and my new down under mate thought we did. Under the circumstances and to be fair, I got (slid) off my bar stool and stripped down to my skivvies and said something like "Here, you like it so much, take it". And he did. But he also was a fair man so he too stripped down and handed me his uniform. Who am I to refuse a gift from our closest allies against the commie bastards and any and all others who tried to walk into our bar that night. Right there and then before the cheering crowd, we put on the other's uniform while less daring drunks only traded hats. Was this becoming a great liberty or what? Now I'm in the Aussie Navy and telling my former OI companions to bugger off in my best Aussie accent. It was about this time the shore patrol came in and told everyone it was time to head to the beach and get in the liberty boats and go back to our respective ships, last call. We all decided to go together and when we stumbled down to the docks, we all got aboard the same Yorktown boat, now an unwilling water taxi, along with other inebriated sailors from other ships who seemed lost as well. The festivities from the bars came with us, most in a mix of different uniforms from three or four different ships.<br />
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The liberty boat first pulled up to the Aussie ship's sea ladder and a few of them crawled up it on their hands and knees like they know the drill. The OOD up topside was yelling for the few Aussie's still in the boat who wanted to go AWOL to get up there or they're coming down. We offered sincere sanctuary aboard the Yorktown assuring them it was so big they'll never find you but in the end they too went up the ladder. I'm just sitting near the back of the boat trying to understand what's going on around me cause the Aussie OOD and other thugs up topside kept screaming down to us Americans left in the boat to get up there right now or else. It was all so baffling and our coxswain wouldn't pull away until the offending Aussie was captured and flogged. They took a few steps down the ladder, now enraged at the insubordination of a lone Aussie in the boat who refusing direct orders to come up topside. The officer and his backup was coming down the first few steps on the ladder pointing at the about to be convict when it hit me. They're after ME, in a full Aussie uniform. I stood up in the boat, mustered up the only proper response I could think of to help clarify the situation, and shouted from the top of my lungs (edited). Oh (edited), now they're scrambling down the ladder to snatch my young impersonating one of them teenage ass and throw me in irons aboard an enemy ship for years. I heard all about it back at the bar just a little while ago.<br />
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Fortunately our Yorktown coxswain thought that was a very American response indeed and backed the boat up just as they were about to board us with cutlass in hand. As we moved away from the Aussie ship all our hard drunk efforts at improving relations between our two navies sunk with each catcall from us to them and back at us. And a good time was had by all. When we pulled up to the Yorktown's ladder guys in the boat were patting me on the back for having a way with words under adverse conditions. If I wasn't so drunk I could have agreed with that but as it was I couldn't get any words out, all I could do to very slowly climb our sea ladder, salute, and remember request permission to come aboard Sir. Our JOOD had a very sad disappointed look on his face as he just nodded his head OK, if you must. I made my way down to the OI compartment with a little help from my friends and crashed on top of my rack wearing a full dress Aussie Navy uniform. Was this a great liberty or what?</p>
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2016-05-16T14:33:34-04:00Nearly CapturedLiberty with Best Intentions<div class="t_form">
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<p>by Pat Dingle</p>
<p>Sailors almost always go shore on liberty with the best of intentions. I know I always did. Yet once ashore in foreign lands, something always seem to come up that turns your teenage plan upside down. I know it did it to me nearly every time but not to the extreme of this liberty in the Philippines... <br />
During the Yorktown's second 1966 tour in Vietnam, OI (Operations Intelligence) division shipmate Bob Schnaufer introduced me to the wonders of skin diving in Subic Bay during one liberty. The day before we had concluded that we have contributed enough to the rumors and legends of salty sailors ashore during this five day port call. It's time for something new. So, upon hitting the beach we made our way to the recreation center on base where one could buy or rent all kinds of wholesome gear for our entertainment. We paid the few bucks for swim masks, swim flippers. snorkels, swimsuits and made our way down to the beach. Bob showed me how to use all this stuff and into the water we waded. Soon I was floating on my stomach face in the water viewing fish and only sucking seawater down the snorkel now and then. To a nineteen year old from the Nevada desert this was the greatest thrill I could have imagined. I know how I'm going to spend all the remaining liberties during my four year hitch. When Bob talked my waterlogged body out of the water that day I bought all the skin-diving items to take with me to other ports of call. The Yorktown left Subic that night for the Gulf of Tonkin with a sailor aboard with hands and feet looking like prunes thinking maybe there is something to this alternative lifestyle ashore. I fell asleep in my rack dreaming of what I'll be doing during our next port call, wherever that may be.<br />
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Some six or seven weeks later we received word in the Combat Information Center (CIC) that our next port call will be an island in the southern Philippines called Cebu, a place the Yorktown had never been before for liberty. In fact only one US Navy warship a year visits on a certain date to help celebrate the liberation from the Japanese Army in March 1945 when combined Filipino and American forces landed and reoccupied the island. The USS Yorktown will be the first aircraft carrier since World War Two. I pored over the info and maps to learn all I could, looking for clear waters to snorkel in. I found this is going to be a very interesting port to visit. The Japanese Army established a base there when soldiers landed in June 1942. They were resisted by guerrillas groups from day one, Cebu is the oldest city in the Philippines, communist guerrillas called Huks are very active today and the Yorktown will have only 24 hours there. I've got to go ashore with the first liberty boat on day one and as a seaman with two years seniority in OI div., I got it on. Now I really studied the maps available in CIC and accordingly, soon had my plan. Just south of the dock area there was a road leading out of the city only about a map inch from the shoreline of the bay. Can't be too difficult to walk a ways out of the city and then just cut over to the water. I was going alone as I often do as my shipmates had other plans that didn't involve my new found wholesome recreation, the heathens.<br />
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A week later the Yorktown dropped anchor far out in the bay early one morning and shortly I was among the first in line at 0800 to go down the sea ladder to one of our liberty boats. I was dressed in summer whites and carried all my snorkeling equipment in my dirty laundry bag, having earlier stuffed what had been in there under my mattress. I studied the southern shoreline on the way into the beach knowing I'd soon be somewhere along there snorkeling to my hearts content. This is going to be a great liberty as I've got all day, don't have to be back aboard until 1700 hours. A man with a plan. Approaching the docks I noticed the similarities to many other small boat docks in West-Pac, rough looking men staring as they go about their work, dilapidated docks, small fishing, cargo boats tied up two, three deep and the unmistakable smells and sounds of busy wharfs. Our boatswain mates brought us against a landing dock with the professionalism one expects of great seaman. We clamored out and up the sea stairs, it was low tide, to topside and mingled a bit as everyone was trying to decide which way to go. Everyone but me, I lit out to the left, having studied a map and had a plan. I walked along the warehouse fronts a ways, ignoring the usual negative stares, until I found an alley leading into the city. The first narrow street was packed with small shops offering fish, cafes and bars and the sign I was looking for. I have never gone hungry or thirsty anywhere in the world I've been, just look for a coke sign out front, world traveler 101.<br />
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I had gotten only a block or two from the docks when I began to experience something I had only read about in books. People were smiling, waving at me and calling out "Hi Joe". I had not had the pleasure of being so welcomed before outside of an empty cat house. I was taken aback but quickly responded by waiving back with a big smile. Soon the greetings changed to "Hi Joe, what's in the bag, something for sale"?. Guys riding small motorcycles would pull up alongside me asking that more often then regular citizens walking around but some did. Other motorist would honk and waive and I returned every one. I figured out it must be because of the WW2 liberation celebrations that these folks really like Americans. The guys asking about my laundry bag got a less friendly greeting back and I'd just keep on walking. At 6' 1" I wasn't concerned about anyone trying to take the bag away from me and spoil my wholesome liberty ashore snorkeling. I had the best of intentions for a change. I kept walking until I came across a wide, paved road heading in the direction I wanted to go. Now there were fewer pedestrians but the good folks driving by still honked and waved. Jeepneys, those WW2 American jeeps and jeep-like vehicles converted into very bright taxies individualized by owners/drivers with multi-colored blinking lights, slowed to ask if I wanted a ride but as I only brought five bucks with me I politely declined the offers. It seemed like every third car on the road was a jeepney, affordable transportation for the average Filipino I guess. The guys on motorcycles still stopped to ask what was in the bag but fewer said "Hi Joe" first as I walked from the city to the countryside parallel to the water in the bay, I think. I'm walking for about a hour or so but there are many little farm houses spaced out so that I didn't think it right to cut across private property to get to the water. It's very hot out, the sun beating down under a clear sky, but I keep on going really enjoying the scenery. It was green everywhere and out here small patches of jungle just off the roadway. Very impressive to a guy from the desert. Up ahead I can see the jungle is thick and comes right up to the road. I'm beginning to think I'll have to cut through all that shortly if I'm going to get to the bay. About a mile up the road I'm in the dense jungle shade still walking and thinking that stupid map in CIC was all wrong when a car horn blew just feet behind me.<br />
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I turned to see an open jeep with three heavily armed men stopped a few feet away. The driver's rifle was slung over his shoulder, the middle aged fat guy in the front passenger seat, wearing a wide open sport shirt revealing two revolvers in his waistband and a shoulder holster, motioned for me to walk back to them. The third guy, standing up with the machinegun on me, just stared. The fat guy started by asking "What's in the bag?". I said swim fins and didn't mind that a bit, even handing him the bag under the circumstances. He wanted to know what I was doing so far out of town and seemed baffled when I told him I wanted to go swimming. He then identified themselves as police by whipping out a huge badge affixed to his wallet and said it was very dangerous for me to be here because the communists will kidnap me, waiving to the jungle. He then told the others in their language what I was doing out in the boonies. He and the driver laughed, the guy on the machinegun continued to stare. Then the boss man with a badge said he knew a safe area on the water, get in. Again the circumstances compelled me to comply, after all they said they were cops. I got into the back seat next to the machine-gunner and went for a ride, turned out to be a very long ride. I held onto the side of the jeep, he held onto the gun. At least we were heading down the road in the same direction I had been walking. The jungle was very thick now with few open patches next to the road. I didn't think I would have walked this far. In fact I know I wouldn't have. All I can do now is enjoy the ride and I did, looking for tigers, monkeys, and snakes behind every bush we past at a high speed. This was really fun.<br />
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We turned to the left off the main road onto what I'd call a dirt path miles from my pickup point. I had to keep my arms in as leaves from plants were scraping the sides of the jeep. No one had said a word so far. We climbed a hill of sorts then descended down the windier other side where I had a glimpse of the sea through the thick forest of trees, it's still to my left, so far, so good. The path straightened out and descended to where the trees thinned out and I could see a small village up ahead. An honest to God village with grass huts up on stilts. It was truly an impressive sight. The jeep slowed for pigs being herded down the road by little kids. My head was twisting back and forth trying to take it all in. There were little naked kids, big pigs, goats, big pots etc. all together under the huts. All eyes turned to us as we passed, very wide eyes on the kids, narrow slits on the adults. You'd think they'd never seen a cop jeep before (or an American sailor). Kids from under every hut spilled out in the dirt road behind us and ran as fast as their bare little brown legs would go, laughing , loudly chattering, calling out to their friends sleeping in their huts. Soon we had quite a tail of kids behind the jeep and I felt honored to be providing such wonderful entertainment for these kids. The boss cop turned and he too had a big evil grin, one looking like he had bagged a sailor. Up ahead I saw that the jungle petered out and there was my open sea. A small rock jetty with a real house on it appeared to be our destination. The jeep came to a stop in front of the house and a heavily armed man walked outside and up to the boss cop who told me to get out. The man's eyes kept going from the cop to me as he received his instructions. I hoped they were friendly instructions. The boss then told me this was a telephone relay station and that the guard would protect me from harm while I went swimming. I could change inside. With that the jeep turned around and went back out the dirt road kicking up dust as all the naked or near naked kids in the village arrived a tad out of breath. The guard kept them all outside as I went in and changed from my American sailor uniform to a pair of swim trunks.<br />
<br />
When I stepped out the front door I was immediately shocked, shocked, when all the kids exploded with belly laughter, pointing at me, poking each other, tears running down their faces like I was the funniest thing in the world. I looked to my protector for help but he too was laughing his ass off. I couldn't figure it out, what was so funny? Was it my pale white body 'cept for very tanned face and forearms? My skinny legs? Just red swim trunks and black shoes, no socks? What ever it was it had the effect of keeping everyone in a total state of hysterical collapse. Being horrified, I did what any American sailor would do in this suddenly adverse situation, I walked with dignity, swim fins and mask in hand, to the nearest water and went in. I thought if I went out far enough my audience would be left behind to settle down. No such luck. I'm wading out, chin held high, when I see those little dugout canoes along the shore filling with all my fans who are paddling with their hands for all they're worth in an effort to keep up with me. And keep up they did. There was a circle of kids in canoes around me the entire time I was in the water. Wading in a foot of water didn't help either, not when you're wearing swim fins. You must lift your foot and fin high up out of the water and with an exaggerated effort, take a big slow step forward. And then another, and another and another. My every step caused a dozen or more canoes to roll side to side as their little brown crews burst out in new laughter. More then a few of my new pals jumped overboard and pantomimed my silly walk, much to my chagrin. If they got too close to me I'd turn on them lurching, hands like claws, growling like a madman, then we'd all really bust up. They knew by this time I was having as much fun as they were. We went way, way out and still the water was only up to my waist. It was then I decided not to go any further but simply put on my mask and snorkel, float around a while looking at all the fishes in the sea then back to shore without a hint of what was really happening here. let the little nippers ponder and wonder for the rest of their lives just what my Top Secret American Mission to Their Village this day was really truly all about.......you see I too have a sense of humor..... Mask on, face in the water, and nothing. I can't see my hand in front of the mask let alone fish or coral and my mouth suddenly felt like I swallowed a handful of salt.. Turned out this village makes it's living harvesting sea salt. This area of the bay is so salty it's all they have to do here. There were long rows of cement slabs on the beach below the high tide mark. When the high tide goes out it leaves a thick layer of sea salt behind on the slabs which are then scraped twice a day with wooden tools thus harvesting the salt. I'm snorkeling in a damn salt factory. Nobody in their right mind comes here to go snorkeling except maybe an American sailor once a year if his ship happens to be ordered to Cebu. Sadly though, deep down inside, I knew by my new pintsized friends reactions to seeing a Caucasian that I was the first.<br />
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I think my well intentioned plan to have a wholesome experience ashore snorkeling on this liberty was doomed weeks prior when I thought I knew what a land inch represented on a map in CIC. Well, this turned out to be one very hot sunburned and thirsty day, more so after accidently swigging some of that saltwater, but all worthwhile I guess. I waded back to the beach surrounded by little brown lifetime memories in dugout canoes. After changing back into the more dignified uniform, waking and thanking my guard for all his protection (he was still sleeping under his covered porch), I set out afoot to retrace my entry to this seaside village on stilts. My army of children, most naked, all barefoot, all happily in tow. Marching out of the village I knew how the pipe piper must have felt. As the path-like road started to climb up that first hill the kids suddenly stopped as if there were an imaginary line in the dirt. I had to keep walking as it's past noon, I'm in a jungle many miles from the city and I had to report back aboard the Yorktown by 1700 hours. At the top of the hill I looked back to all my young friends still below at the village limits. They were watching me, waving until I'm out of sight. I stood up there atop that hill a long time, slowly waving back to them, one and all.<br />
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My trek from the village on huts through the dense jungle back to the main road and the Yorktown was uneventful if you ignored the sunburn, thirst, hunger, generally being lost feeling or not knowing how I'll make it all the way back to the docks. It's march or die so I kept walking. It seemed like hours before I hit the main drag back to town. Not having been eaten by a tiger or snake bit, I now was walking back alongside civilized pavement. At least I knew I was heading in the right direction. The jeepneys were coming by more often then I'd thought, being way out here in the boonies. Most who were going my way would honk their distinctive horns and slow down to pick me up if they had room for another passenger. I didn't have a clue as to the cost of a ride into town and only having four or five bucks on me, I'd waive them on. I had tried asking the first few who stopped but neither of us spoke the other guy's language. I noticed the drivers seem a bit pissed off at me too. I'm learning there's a strict protocol involving jeepneys and pedestrians. If I want a ride I should stand well off the road to give the jeepney room to pull off the road and waive directly only at the one I want. If I don't want a ride I'm required to waive a "no" sign so that driver doesn't waste his time stopping as in time is money. It took me miles on foot watching a few folks do this before I caught on. The longer I walked the more thirsty and worn out I become with no hint of Cebu in sight. It was about this time a young jeepney driver my age stopped and offered a ride. I gestured that I was broke, with broken English and hands a flapping he replied with a wide smile "so what? get in the front seat anyway". I did, gratefully. He even offered me a bottle of water. His passengers all nodded at me with big smiles too and off we went down the road towards Cebu, two teenagers not able to converse yet understanding each other by facial expressions, body language and laughs. The wind's now blowing in my face going down the highway, is this a great liberty or what? Within a few passenger stops here's this American uniformed sailor getting out of the seat in front and bowing deeply to women as they get on board, much to their shock and amusement. Same when they got off at their destination. I'm earning my passage the old fashion way. My shenanigans that day gave my fellow teenage driver much status on the streets of Cebu where unique jeepneys are the golden rule, the weirder the better, the ones people want to ride in. And in this town and time I was weird. The driver stayed in the city picking up-dropping off folks, I guessed so more people would see him with me riding shotgun.<br />
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About 1500 hours he gestured by rubbing with a circle motion on his stomach that he was hungry to which I replied by rapidly bobbing my head up and down "me too". We immediately stopped next to a street vender causing many car horns to sound off behind us but we stopped traffic only long enough to get two of what I thought was monkey meat dipped in fire sauce on a stick, washed down by two cokes each. He paid. I thought I might pay for lunch vomiting over the side but I never did. That lunchtime delight wouldn't become habit forming for me. Shortly after lunch my new friend asked if I'd like to meet one of his old friends, pointing to the mountains visible on the western edge of the city. Sure, why not? I have about another two hours before he'll have to drop me off at the dock to catch the last liberty boat and I can see they're not too far away. A short short side trip to the nearby mountains would nice, no harm in that, right? So having a new plan of the day he turned off all those blinking lights indicating he's out of service and off we went. The neighborhoods changed dramatically as we hit the low foothills near the mountains. The houses were more like wealthy old Spanish estates covering several acres for the smallest ones we passed. Most had high arched gates on the street end of their driveways and all had heavy security gates, some even had armed guards. All these homes were very well cared for and in complete contrast to the parts of town I'm more failure with as a sailor. This was a very pleasant drive after all. Higher up in the hills we passed the University of Cebu, a beautiful campus established several century's ago. It too was surrounded by high iron fences and what appeared to be guard towers every few hundred feet. Just past the school the road narrowed to two lanes that horses would have trouble with passing in opposite directions. Now we're in high mountains with very steep drops just inches from the jeepneys tires. And apparently no speed limit cause my friend never slowed down. Neither did the cars and trucks coming down the mountain. No need if you lay on your horn when approaching a blind curve. I was beginning to hope this friend didn't live too much further up when I observed the fact nobody lived up here, no houses. I didn't bother to bring that up as I'd rather the driver focus on his driving then mindlessly chat with me. Nearing the top of the mountain I spotted what looked like a shack on the side of the road extending out over open space supported only by poles on the outer edges . And that's where we skidded to a halt just inches from a few hundred foot drop over the side. My friend signaled for me to stay in the vehicle like he didn't seem to notice or care that had I stepped outside I would have fallen hundreds of feet down the mountain side. He honked his horn and went up to a door as a young lady looked out. I saw her looking my way then nodding her head yes. A few minutes later she came outside and they both walked back to the car and opened the drivers door. That's when our eyes met and those little hearts started flowing back and fourth between us. She is drop dead beautiful and my age. She sat next to me all bright eyed, smiling at me and in that moment I knew.<br />
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There comes a time, some say only once in a lifetime, when fate, the force of nature, call it what you will, has you in it's iron grip. Well it had me too. In that moment I knew going ashore with the best of intentions just went out the window. She spoke no English and none was required as us three teenagers sped down that mountain side as dusk set in, horn hardly heard over our collective laughter. Soon we were back in the downtown area of Cebu just cruising the main drags under all the bright lights. I was reminded of cruising back home in Las Vegas but this city in the Philippines, under the circumstances, beats Vegas hands down. I was prepared to do this all night long, why not? I'm already AWOL, but my driver friend had other plans. He and she kept chattering while I kept grinning like a monkey with an orange when he suddenly stopped in the middle of a busy intersection to talk to the cop directing traffic. The policeman listened a moment and broke out in a big grin while looking at me then said something sounding like instructions. I hoped he wasn't about to take my orange away. Whatever the cop said we did by hanging a hard right and driving to another area of town nearby that was much more upscale. Up ahead I noted a newly constructed hotel much taller then any other building I've seen so far. Some sections of it were still being built. We drove past then swung down an alley behind the hotel and up to the hotel service-delivery bay in the rear. My friend jumped out and knocked on a door answered by a hotel employee. Words were spoken and shortly a bellhop came out and my guy was explaining something as the bellhop kept glancing at me nodding. My friend came back to the jeepney to say his cop friend told him to ask for this guy to get a room for the night and he wanted ten bucks. I should have anticipated this, my day has been going like a roller coaster anyway, dropped off at a sea-salt factory in the jungle to snorkel, mystery meat for lunch, I'm now AWOL, hungry, and only had five dollars. My driver friend took it to the bellman who looked down at the $5 bill and nodded yes (they're the same worldwide). My girlfriend and I scrambled out of the car and followed him inside as my driver said something about being back for us in the morning. I thought that's what he said. And now this is the only part of my liberty in Cebu that will fade to dark like any good movie.<br />
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I was awoken in the morning by loud knocking on the door but no one was there when I opened it. We waited a while and then both felt stranded. The only thing to do was go downstairs and play it by ear. We descended about five floors when the stairwell opened up two flights above the main floor. Holy Cow, we're in the Grand Hotel, staff decked out in tuxedos, marble floors, potted palms everywhere, a huge spiral staircase down from here to our escape out the lobby. An American sailor must always do the right thing; we went down those two fully exposed flights of stairs in lock step with heads held high, the sailor and mountain girl without luggage, across the lobby area as big as our hanger deck all the while trying to ignore the open mouth stares and dead silence from all. Dead ahead are the revolving double glass leading outside manned by a very tall elderly Filipino doorman dressed in a red tuxedo complete with red top hat. Is this joint classy or what? I turned and nodded my approval of the hotel to one and all as we followed him out. On the sidewalk he asked me in perfect English if I required a taxi, sir. I turned on the charm by shrugging my shoulders, shaking my head no. He looked at the mountain girl and understood immediately that I was broke even if it wasn't like that. He asked where are you going sir and I replied the waterfront part of town. The doorman asked me to wait there a moment and walked over to a man just starting up a small motorcycle nearby. He then nodded to me to come over and said this man will take you there. I'm stuck but again a sailor has to do what a sailor does. I got on the motorcycle, turned and waving goodbye to my mountain girlfriend standing there, took off on a bike that sounded like bumblebees. I hoped I was right that our jeepney driver pal will come soon to take her back home. Fortunately I was well experienced on a bike because this guy rode like a madman, weaving in and out of traffic like he wanted to crash us. Or dump me off the back. Anyway, he kept his word to to doorman and took me to the docks where I got off by simply standing up when he slowed down. He sped away sounding like angry bees, must be running late to get somewhere else.<br />
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Now I find myself not only broke and hungry but it's about 0630, I'm the only sailor in town and AWOL to boot. The rough dock workers milling about are looking at me funny cause I'm the only one around wearing summer whites. I hope I'm the only one in uniform. Anyone else is bound to be the shore patrol. I've got to lay low for about two hours until the first liberty boats come in from the Yorktown and I can blend in. Right now I feel like a snowflake in a bucket of oil. I walked about only a few minutes until I saw that universal sign I was looking for and walked right in. The talking and sounds inside stopped. So did I, quickly concluding this was the breakfast/bar/hangout for dockworkers right out of a Humphrey Bogart movie. Not knowing how I might be received in here, I sat down at a small table closest to the door and facing everyone. After a while everyone went back to what they were doing, just sneaking glances at me as I waited for service. I had about 50 cents in American coins and really need something to drink, the last liquid intake being yesterday afternoon. It was soon apparent this is a self service establishment, at least for sailors, so I got up and went to the bar. I put all my coins on the bar top and said "Coke" to the bartender. He opened a small glass bottle of coke and took half of my money. I went back to my table thinking I have to nurse two cokes until I see sailors outside and then come up with a plan to get back aboard without an arrest and court-martial. Neat trick if I can pull it off and I think I can if I just blend in with everyone coming back aboard. I'm thinking this'll be a piece of cake as I sat there sipping my drink listening to my stomach growling. At this point I had no real concerns except for those two men sitting nearby in a booth. The one facing me was a skinny rat faced cutthroat looking guy who kept giving me very hard looks. The other guy was a lot older, 60s, fat and had a round face. He kept trying to look at me but had trouble turning around in the booth, being so large. After a while the big man got up and walked over to my table and sat down facing me. A big smile broke out on his face and he said "American" pointing at me. I nodded my head yes. Then in broken English he went on to tell me he likes Americans and wants to buy me food. I nodded OK. He snapped his finger once and a waiter appeared from out of nowhere to take his order, not bothering to ask what I may want. To tell the truth after yesterdays meat on a stick from a street vender I didn't care what they brought. Soon I had a breakfast and several cokes in front of me as my benefactor began to talk. Rat-face stayed in the booth staring daggers my way. Disconcerting somewhat cause I thought I saw him draw his finger across his throat and a thin smile appeared momentarily but I was so hungry I paid him no attention other then kept one eye glued his way.<br />
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My newest pal had quite a story to tell me, the first American he's seen in decades. He said he was a young man when the Japanese invaded Cebu so he started a gorilla army inland from the coast and fought the Japs from the very first. He said they killed so many Jap army patrols that the Japanese quit trying to do anything in the valleys in the interior of Cebu Island and stayed near the cost and city. That jived with the history I'd read in CIC. He went on to say that twice he and his group rescued downed American pilots. He kept them safe until the end of the war when they returned to American hands. Then he said the two pilots returned to Cebu several years later with their wives just to visit and thank him for saving their lives. The Americans stayed with him for a month on that visit and this man's face was beaming with pride telling me the story. He went on to say after the war the government made him a senior colonel in the Philippine army in charge of the local garrison but after a few years he retired because he just couldn't make a decent living doing that. So I asked what he did after life fighting the Japanese and a retired colonel. His face suddenly took on the most evil, sly look I've ever seen. Head lowered, eyes darting side to side making sure no one can hear, he dramatically told me "How you say 'by hook or crook', I have boats, men, I smuggle cigarettes and other things from Indochina where they're cheaper and sell them here and Manila". He looked so proud and I must have looked so impressed that he offered me a job on one of his boats. I told him I'll give that real thought but that I still have several years left in another navy. He looked somewhat disappointed but said he understood and that the position is mine anytime I want it. I appreciated having options as to whose navy I want to serve in. The pirate handed me his business card saying this café is his headquarters and I can always get in touch with him here. I kept that card for decades, a guy never knows when he'll need a friend in Cebu, Philippines. At one point I asked him what happens if the Philippine navy catches him on the open sea. He broke into a big grin and pulled out a wad of dough that would've choked a horse, pantomiming peeling off bucks for the captain of the navy ship. He said he knew who he gets along with and who he doesn't, then his boats are much faster then any navy ship. He nodded towards rat-face and whispered if anyone gets in the boss's way, making quick stabbing motions. I had rat-face pegged right.<br />
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It's been over twenty four hours since I came ashore with only the best of intentions and I've had only a few hours of sleep, if that. I'm really beat and all I want to do now is get back aboard my ship whatever the cost. So I bid farewell, I'll be sure to look you up, to my latest new friend and left his headquarters on the wharf. I walked until I found the same area the liberty boat used yesterday and waited. I was exposed but I didn't care. I was too tired. I'll just go back on the first boat and hopefully get in my rack and pass out. What's the worst that could happen now? Soon the first of many liberty boats came ashore filled with the crew who were on duty yesterday. I went on and sat up forward. The two crewmen were aft. When we pulled up alongside the Yorktown's sea-ladder I jumped on and drug myself up the ladder, it's nearly over, I made it. Reaching the top I looked on deck and I'm a dead man. There's no way out now, I'm busted. The JOOD was none other then my O.I. division Chief, the very same Chief Petty Officer who always suspects me of chicanery. Me!!!, of all sailors, go figure. I have all of two seconds to save my bacon from the brig when survival instincts kicked in. Those last two steps up the sea-ladder and my salute to the flag then him were so textbook perfect, so snappy, so stiff at attention, I took my lifer Chief by complete utter surprise. All he could think to do was to slowly return my salute. I could see it in his baffled eyes though, did Dingle go ashore then immediately return on this first boat? Did I see him go ashore a little while ago? Didn't he go on liberty yesterday? Why is he back so soon? Why is he in my Navy? I quickly marched into the crowd of sailors trying to go down the sea ladder, each one saluting the Chief thus forcing a return salute, and disappeared down the nearest ladder not giving my Chief a chance to call me back for questioning. And he never did. I slid down the hand rails, shoes skipping lightly over every fifth step. Minutes later I was in my skivvies and in my rack soundly asleep. I was home, I made it. It's a very good peaceful feeling to be back home, after having gone ashore the day before with only the best of intentions.</p>
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2016-05-16T14:29:57-04:00Liberty with Best IntentionsOn Watch in CIC<div class="t_form">
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<p>by Pat Dingle</p>
<p>I stood watch on every duty station OI division (Operations Intelligence) had during my nearly four years there. At first, as a 17 year old right out of boot camp, I had upright chart boards and soon wrote backwards. Sound power phones connecting most of us including the bridge turned out to be the easiest to master; push the little button down and talk. Radar screen blips and perhaps some of the more involved electronic countermeasure equipment (spying) took much more hands on training. I learned from sr. radarmen, all Petty Officers up to and including Chief Petty Officers of which we had several. The intricate ways and means of accurately interpreting those little "returns" or objects on the radar screen, each one representing something afloat or flying. For a break and/or to get me out of the way, they'd assign me to to the 07 level as a lookout. During that first West-Pac tour of 1964-65 shortly after reporting aboard everything was so new and exciting to me but soon I did have duty stations that seemed a bit more interesting then others or at least had the potential to be.</p>
<p>If I were to now pick one station in CIC to call my own I'd have to say it would be the emergency long range air search radar. We had four radar stations in the "air section" of CIC vs. three in the "surface section". The watch officers had one of each. Three were side by side and manned for normal routine operations i.e.. our flights, civilian airliners etc. and one radar located eight feet away from the others up on a little pedestal. It was used only for aircraft emergencies and had a radio signal direction finder above the radar screen used to pickup a mayday and you'd turn the dial to get a bearing on the radio signal. The radio telephone headset there was tuned in to an emergency net used by American pilots, all branches, who were hit by enemy fire or any other emergency. When we left Long Beach in late 1964 not one of us could conceive there would ever be a need for that station hence no special training. Operation Rolling Thunder in Feb. 1965 changed all that, slowly at first. We were on station far north of the DMZ weeks before the air war began. War teaches you to get it right the first time.</p>
<p>Another reason I liked the air radars is that you could "see" for hundreds of miles in every direction from the Yorktown, further if the atmospherics were right. So much depended on weather conditions, very frustrating at times. I vividly recall tracking Chinese jets (Chi-Coms) well north of the Chinese/North Vietnam border and North Vietnamese jets all around Hanoi daily those times we were well north in the Gulf of Tonkin. The air section or "air picture" as we liked to refer to it, would plot most if not all contacts on large upright Plexiglas charts located directly behind the individual radar stations. One chart per station, one seaman per chart connected to the man on the scope via sound powered phones. There was just enough room to squeeze between the chart and the bulkhead. Anyway, the air picture gave us, the CIC watch officers, the Captain on the bridge and the Admiral in the next room the "big picture" as to what and where, course and speed of anything flying while they're still a long ways out. Everyone is considered a bogey unless/until proven otherwise. Most often that proof would come in the form of IFF (Identification-Friend-or Foe) on all American aircraft. It's a device on the plane that sends out a signal capable of being picked up by radar. The IFF signal could even be greatly enlarged by the experienced radar operator and the individual code of that aircraft read. We seldom had a need to do that though. They were either ours or theirs and that's all we wanted to know.</p>
<p>One early morning well north of the DMZ, perhaps 0400 or so, absolutely nothing going on anywhere, I was sitting on the emergency radarscope, radio headset on listening to the low constant static, watching the sweep of the radar antenna going around and around and around, about 360 degrees a minute, drinking coffee and smoking non-filtered camel cigarettes trying my best to stay awake in the dark of CIC when I heard "Mayday, Mayday" loud and clear in my headset. I looked at my screen to a cloudy area over North Vietnam and saw a very faint emergency IFF signal emerge. I immediately marked the spot, read the degree and distance in miles from the Yorktown, shouted out to the entire room "Mayday-Emergency IFF" kicking everyone in gear, reached up to take hold of the voice radio direction finder to tune into the pilot if he can call again to confirm data and all this at once in one sure motion. Those across the room marked the aircraft's location on charts and waited for each report from me. I too waited what seemed like a long time, at least a full sweep on my scope. Then I heard the pilot again. I can hear him now as I type this. In what I can only describe as a resigned, almost bored sounding sing-song, high to low voice the pilot calmly broadcast "Mayday mayday mayday........Mayday mayday mayday........mayday may................ That was it. No more sounds, signals or radar returns. He fell from the night sky, crashing into the jungle below and died.</p>
<p>I heard, saw, many more pilots shot down during those years, some we rescued too. I may write about those rescues one day. This story was about but one moment in time on watch in CIC. One that will stay with me forever.</p>
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2016-05-16T14:28:48-04:00On Watch in CICUnder Attack - Gulf of Tonkin<div class="t_form">
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<p>by Pat Dingle</p>
<p>The USS Yorktown CVS 10 entered the Vietnam War several months before it really got started on Feb. 24th 1965 with Operation Rolling Thunder, the sustained bombings of North Vietnam. U.S. Marines entered the war for the first time, all 3,500 of them, when they began landing ashore in Da Nang on March 8th with orders to guard our air base there and nothing more. We were just over the horizon for that event. The Yorktown's mission had changed from anti-submarine warfare to that of air-sea rescue of airmen shot down over the North. To a man we in Operations Intelligence thought during January and March of '65 fat chance of the North Vietnamese ever being able of doing that. We were wrong, man were we ever wrong. By Dec. 24th 1965 170 United States military aircraft had been shot down, 94 of those were Navy. I turned 18 in April while on duty in CIC. It was interesting times to be a teenage sailor. At times very interesting.</p>
<p>OI stood watch 5 hours on, 7 off, 7 on, 5 off 24/7 for months at a time. Early one morning during that first April of the war, about 0300, I was on duty in the air section of CIC trying to stay awake. It's very dark in there and it's hard to stay alert when you're stuck on a corner station with nothing important to do. I was on an emergency radio headset in the air section with steady quite static droning in my ear just doing radio checks every hour with my counterparts on the attack carriers a hundred miles or so to the south of us. The Yorktown was the only carrier in those early days to steam off the coast of North Vietnam far to the north of the DMZ. I was sprawled with my legs straight out in a chair squeezed between two radar scopes when a door across the room burst open and the Admiral's staff officers rushed out of his war room and right up to me scaring the shit out of me. They gave me a hand written message and said send that "Flash". As I took it someone said "Send that EMERGENCY". I looked up, it was the Admiral. I sat up straight and started broadcasting as I read, "Alfa Whiskey, Alfa Whiskey, this is Alfa Sierra, Alfa Sierra, FLASH FLASH, EMERGENCY EMERGENCY, two high speed contacts closing bearing (?now) range ?? speed 45 plus knots, request CAP over". It hit me, holy shit we're under attack, as we all waited for a response from the USS Ranger who was controlling the combat air patrol of fighter jets that flew over the fleet 24/7. Nothing, no response, so I repeated the broadcast as the Admiral and staff leaned over me with an anxious look on their faces. I shook my head negative, still no response. They grabbed the note from me and rushed over to another radarman about twenty feet away in the surface section and had him broadcast the request for help. I was now fully awake and alert.</p>
<p>I personally don't remember the next half hour and all the moving parts above my lowly pay grade but a highly respected 3rd class PO at that time, Bill Wages, wrote on the old Yorktown website some years ago that the CAP didn't come, too far south, so we launched our A-4 Sky Hawk jets (same type of aircraft John McCain flew when shot down) and they blew the two North Vietnamese torpedo boats right out of the water. I did however stay hours after my watch and listened in on the after action and our capture of the surviving enemy sailors. One of our helicopters radioed the North Vietnamese sailors in the water refused to climb into a sling lowered to puck them out and requested permission to shoot them. Permission denied, after a long pause, so one of our destroyers put a small boat in the water and fished them out by hand. Several years later I read in the Stars and Strips that there had been a POW swap the prior month of about 500 South Vietnamese Army guys for 25 sailors from the North. They had to be the ones who came out in the Gulf of Tonkin to attack the Yorktown that night. Like I said, interesting times to be a teenage sailor. And memorable lifelong lessons learned to say the least.</p>
<p>Stories of some of those rescues and losses to follow along with liberties ashore in those far away lands....</p>
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2016-05-16T14:27:28-04:00Under Attack - Gulf of TonkinUSS Yorktown's Last War<div class="t_form">
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<div><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">by Pat Dingle</span></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Joining the Navy at the ripe old age of 17 years 3 weeks, and not able to swim, I reported aboard the WW2 aircraft carrier USS Yorktown CVS 10 right out of boot camp in San Diego in Aug.1964. I was assigned to Operations Intelligence, OI div., Combat Information Center as a radarman. In boot camp I had requested sonar in subs when asked, I'm learning how it works in the Navy. Whenever the Yorktown shoved off from a pier or weighed anchor nearly every station in CIC was manned and stayed that way until we hit port again. We practiced war drills 24-7 as soon as we were far enough out to sea from Long Beach to turn on the powerful air search radar and crank up the surface radars. To do so in port would have knocked most television stations in the LA area off the air, something I wanted to do every time. Our war game drills consisted of every civilian water craft, be it a ten foot fishing boat or a commercial freighter. The air war we fought was intense within a hundred miles of land. You'd be surprised at how many piper cubs we'd track as though each one was a kamikaze bent on sinking us. So it goes in the mind of a seventeen year old E-2 sailor learning the intense art of correctly interpreting and tracking pinpoint radar returns on his scope and reporting the data to all the other stations within our system via sound power phones. And believe me it's an art, not a science. Contacts would be "painted" a lime green color on the scope each time the radar beam hit it as the antenna swept 360 degrees about every 30 seconds or so and then fade until painted again. Many conditions such as heavy seas or storms would distort or cause the contact to "disappear" from the scope, driving a good radarman crazy, especially when there were numerous contacts. To help solve this potentially disastrous situation all contacts were marked on the scope's glass cover with a grease pencil about every five to ten sweeps. All unknown or contacts of concern were also plotted by an E-2 or 3 on one or more large upright Plexiglas charts. Generally each radar station had at least one upright chart depicting what the radar operator was seeing. By these means we were almost always able to "pick up" the contact at some point, knowing the general area of the sea or air it was last seen and where it should be if it hadn't change course. The chart boards also allowed the CIC watch officers to see at a glance any and all activity. Up on the bridge our radarman standing watch there maintained an identical chart for the Captain's benefit, giving him the "big picture" at a glance. We were all connected via sound powered phones sounding like an angry beehive.</span></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">CIC consisted of about nine or ten radar stations, divided into what we called the "air picture" and the "surface picture", along with the several plotting boards or upright maps drawn on the charts per radar station, the radio telephones for ship to ship communication worn by the chart plotters, one to three watch officers on a raised platform against the back bulkhead with their own radarscopes and a top secret electronic counter measure equipment (ECM) room behind a thick green curtain. That's also where we kept the most used station in CIC, the large coffee pot. There were numerous other electronic devises within reach of most of the stations as well. I think the term multi-tasking was invented in here or maybe it was a one armed paperhanger. CIC is located directly under the island and flight deck in an armor plated, air conditioned space a mole would love. I'm talking very dark. The only light emits from the scopes and charts. In order to read a message you'd have to turn on a small spot light in the overhead and move the message back and fourth under a narrow beam of light. There were only two ways to enter this very restricted space, one from a small passageway on the starboard side and through the ECM room, our usual route, or from an inside passageway where the pilots ready rooms, Air Intelligence Office and "Flag Country" spaces were located. There was one more door, directly behind the CIC watch officers. The Admiral's war room was on the other side of that door. It was understood it generally stayed closed unless his staff opened it to slum with our officers. Sometime I'll post about the time in early 1965 we were steaming far north of the DMZ in the Gulf of Tonkin when the Admiral and all his officers burst through that door about 0300 and ran directly up to me, scaring the shit outta me as I dosed with one ear open, ordering me to broadcast an emergency radio transmission requesting help from the combat air patrol (Cap) flying 24/7 over the fleet down south.....the "Yorktown is coming under attack by two North Vietnamese torpedo boats". I remember it well, their door was grey.</span></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">When the Yorktown, her four destroyer escorts and air crews, left Long Beach in late 1964 for a routine six month west-pac cruse I was ready. We had conducted a number of short shakedown periods at sea of a week or two each for carrier landings, general sea trials and every conceivable drill for every division aboard ship just to make damn sure everything was in syntax the Navy way. I had my sea legs by now and couldn't wait for us to head over to West-Pac for our regular six month deployment, I can't clean the OI division heads if I'm on duty in CIC. Or so I thought at the time. I learned soon enough that rank and seniority means something aboard ship. All those bennies would come to me over the next three years but meanwhile I'm enjoying every minute of my life in the Navy. I was meant to go to sea and that's saying something for a guy from the desert. Another CIC duty station I enjoyed was lookouts high up on the 07 level where we could watch all the activity on the flight deck during air ops, scan the horizon for ships, watch the flying fish as they glided over the water, occasionally see porpoises, sharks, and shooting stars while snorting stack gas. In the South China Sea sea snakes were common along with floating debris from junks. One of the joys I'll never forget is steaming westward across the Pacific and the great ocean swells out there. Our bow would rise high in the air as we rode the hill of water to the top then plunge over to the bottom of the trough on the other side. If the swells were timed right it felt like I was back home on my gently loping horse. If the next hill of water came too soon and we'd hit it at the base, it was like hitting a solid block wall and the Yorktown would pause then shutter as she force her way forward. I've seen green water twenty five feet high coming over the bow at those moments, and keep in mind the flight deck is 83 feet up from the water line. That always made us grin and say we hit a rock. Never tired of that joke. The other amusing aspect was speculating on how many of the crews aboard our four destroyer escorts were puking their guts out as their ships twisted and turned in those rough seas. Somehow that always came up when we'd meet those guys on the beach, we'd make sure of that. They usually came back with something highly insulting to us in turn like the Yorktown's crew can shoot pool in such seas and it's the tin can sailors who are the real Navy. Nothing we could come back with but bend over like we're barfing and laugh a lot. We had one guy who really would barf if it were later into the night and he had tipped a few too many. We truly did work well together with those tin can sailors at sea and played well on liberty ( I never knew whether there was a pool table aboard or not).</span></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">It was in November of 1964 while steaming to Japan when it came. I was off duty in our sleeping quarters when suddenly the Yorktown made a hard turn to port and started making 30 plus knots. You could always tell by the way she vibrated. I was wondering what the hell was going on as I knew there were no air operations that day and that we were on a straight run to our next port of call. I thought about going up to CIC to find out when the boatswain whistle came over the M1c and "Stand by for special announcement" then "This is the Captain speaking. If all went according to plan, elements of the 7th fleet attacked North Vietnam thirty minutes ago. Our orders are to proceed to Vietnam. I don't know yet if we are at war. I'll keep you advised. That is all". A moment in time like when you heard Kennedy was shot. And so it began for the USS Yorktown and her crews, from World War 2 to now, her last war. We arrived on our duty station deep in the Gulf of Tonkin just days later for something a few months later called "Operation Rolling Thunder", the start of the sustained air war against North Vietnam on Feb. 24th 1965 and a month before the Marines first landed 3,500 men in Vietnam at DaNang on <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_808479194" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">March 8th</span></span> to guard the air base there. All the training I've had up till now had kicked into a shooting war with on the job training. OI stood watches 7 hours on then 5 off, 5 hours on then 7 off every day of the week for months, you get good at your duty very quickly. With so many of our military's aircraft shot down or shot up over North Vietnam during the next few years, with 170 (94 were Navy) by Dec. 24th 1965 alone, the Yorktown's mission had changed from anti-submarine warfare to the air-sea-land rescue of pilots hit north of the DMZ. CIC was the very first step in that process. I heard many a pilot's last words as he's going down. Saw on my scope many more hit and "squawk" his emergency IFF then nothing more, unknown fate. I'll write future stories of some of those rescues I took part in from CIC, tell of the time the Yorktown nearly beached on the North Vietnam coast, the many North Vietnamese Mig jets I tracked, the ever growing number of surface to air missile sites on our boards, The Yorktown's Sea King helicopter shot down killing the entire crew three days before I was to go out on patrol on one, the pilot who was shot down over the North, rescue aborted due to hundreds of NVA at the site firing at the rescuers, yet picked up the next morning alive and well. I heard the entire event, shoot down to rescue, on my headset. Interesting times, lots of memories, serving aboard the Yorktown on my 18th, 19th and 20th birthdays in the South China Sea combat zone as a charter member of the Gulf of Tonkin Yacht Club and then later the USS Pueblo "Incident". Wouldn't have missed any of the Yorktown's last, my first, war for the world. Fortunately, I didn't.</span></span></div>
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2016-05-16T14:25:39-04:00USS Yorktown's Last WarFirst Night Ashore<p>by Willie Lagarde</p>
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<p>Lutchie Wieland had been a friend almost all of my life. He had joined the Navy a few months before I did in 1942 and after boot camp and school at Great Lakes NTS was assigned to the destroyer USS Dale. Although we exchanged letters I hadn’t seen him in almost two years when I made out Dale’s number 353 on one of the three ships escorting us in from the fleet to Bremerton in Aug. 1944. I hadn't been home in over twenty months, in fact not at all since I left home for San Diego NTS. Wouldn't it be great I thought, if Lutchie was due for a leave and we could make the long four or five day train ride home together.</p>
<p>I don't know how it was decided which half of our crew would be in the first leave party but found out early on I was in the second and wouldn't be getting off the ship in Seattle but could still looked forward to going ashore that night in Bremerton. We anchored near the NSY and because I was in the wrong place at the right time I was snagged with another man for a working party. A tug boat had came along side unexpectantly with about a hundred five gallon cans of fresh milk and the OD ordered me and the other man to bring it aboard. "Just the two of us lieutenant?" "Get started and I'll see if I can get you some help;" he never did. I saw my chances of getting ashore slipping away but there's still hope if my legs held out after making about fifty trips up the gangway with the milk. It wasn't to be, the whole gunnery department and others spent the night unloading all our ammunition onto a barge. After all those long months at sea; the promised land is only a mile or so away and we can't get to it. Sadly one of our men was killed on this job when he fell from the crane hook onto the barge.</p>
<p>I don't remember if we were allowed to sack in because we then had to move the ship into dry dock or graving dock as it was called. I was so tired I didn't think I could make it ashore but when the bugle sounded liberty call for the starboard side I was rejuvenated and didn't give a damn if I was port or starboard, I was going ashore. I got to Dale just as Lutchie was leaving to come look for me. With three of his shipmates we caught the ferry for Seattle and everybody wanted to go to a restaurant for steaks except me. I had never eaten a steak so I ordered ham and eggs and hash browns, it was one of the best meals I ever had. Later the five of us decided to get a hotel room, or preferably two if possible for our entire stay in Bremerton. I don't remember the name of the hotel but it was one of the larger ones because we got two adjoining rooms on the tenth floor. One of the Dale sailors had started drinking as soon we got on the ferry and by the time we got to the rooms he was loaded.</p>
<p>Like many hotels in those days there was no AC so I went over to open one of the large single pane windows only to have it slam back down and shatter. I watched as several large pieces of glass fell to the sidewalk and thanked God no one was under them. I doubt I could have made anyone hear me even if there was time. One of Lutchie’s shipmates thought cops would probably soon arrive and we best get the drunk man in the other room. Wise move. In a matter of minutes one cop barged into the room and I don’t remember if he had his gun drawn but the cop who stayed in the hall did. I noticed he looked tired, agitated and disgusted and wasn't buying my explanation of what happened to the window. That is until he tried it himself then called for the manager. He told him there was obviously a problem with the sash latches and absolved us of any responsibility. His mood changed completely and he told us, "you have no idea how refreshing it to come in here and find all of you boys sober." He said besides dealing with criminals there were very few peaceful nights because of carousing and disorderly drunks.</p>
<p>At the time all of us had seen combat, if you could call it that, but when I looked at that tired policeman I realized, these men are unsung heroes. Unlike us who lived in anticipation of danger and death occasionally over a period of two or three years it was a part of their lives every time they put on the uniform and badge and reported for duty. I tried to think of appropriate words to thank this man and his partner but I knew if he saw us again before this night was over we could very well be among those carousing disorderly drunks, and anything but "refreshing". From that day to now, I have the utmost respect for duly authorized men in law enforcement.</p>
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2016-05-15T22:33:15-04:00First Night AshoreRE: Fist Fights<p>I loved taking five minutes to sit quietly on the fantail nine years ago. In my imagination, I can see pictures flying off in the wind behind The Fighting Lady. Thanks for sharing, Willie!</p>
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<p><strong>Willie Lagarde wrote:</strong></p>
<div class="quotedText">As much as we hated to do it, after taking one final look we sealed the pictures in the envelope and threw them off the fantail. Needless to say, there was never any official word about the incident or the pictures.</div>
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2016-05-14T16:40:11-04:00Fist FightsGood Buddies<p>To quote Thucydides (an Athenian histrorian and general in the Peloponnesian War between Sparta and Athens in 411 B.C.): "The bravest are those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and notwithstanding, go out to meet it." Thank-you, Willie, for sharing, for your service, and to all of us who served, so that we can live free in our country today! ~LCDR Dan Rodriguez, USN (Ret)</p>
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2016-05-02T12:29:17-04:00Good BuddiesGood Buddies<p>By Willie Lagarde</p>
<p>As I may have said before I always thought my war was like a walk in the park compared to that of some of the men who were kin, I worked with or were drinking and fishing buddies post WW2 and years since. In no particular order here are some of them who came to mind as I lay in bed this morning listening to Daniel O’Donnell and Mary Duff. Designated by; CW co-worker; F friend; BL brother-in-law, D, A or U dead, alive or unknown:</p>
<p>Bud G USMC ran up beachheads including Iwo. CW D</p>
<p>Cowboy T USMC Korea, dud mortar round fell at his feet. CW D</p>
<p>Terrel C USMC Korea, helped stack frozen bodies at Chongsin. BL D</p>
<p>Corky S, AAF B17 pilot shot down and hidden by French undergound. CW D</p>
<p>Paul R, AAF B17 pilot shot down taken prisoner. BL D</p>
<p>Paul B, Delta Force enough said. BL D</p>
<p>Frank R, USN three days and nights in water after Indianapolis sinking. F D</p>
<p>Erwin R, USA walked the point from landing into Germany. CW U</p>
<p>Potch, USA assaulted Mt Cassino in Italy. BL D</p>
<p>Johnny S, USA fought in New Guinea. BL D</p>
<p>Charlie F, USA fought in Philippines and Okinawa. BL D</p>
<p>Buster F, USN crewman aboard submarine USS Silversides. F D</p>
<p>Hiram G, USAF F86 pilot over Korea. CW U</p>
<p>Paul R, USN served on destroyer USS Abner Read F D</p>
<p>Lutchie W, USN served of destroyer USS Dale F D</p>
<p>Joe F UDT frogman (UDT forerunner of SEAL's) F D</p>
<p>Tell you what boys and girls, in those days the question wasn’t “were you in the military”, but rather what, when and where.</p>
<p>Hope the girl walking in the park was smiling because she knew I was gaining on her.</p>
<p><img alt="" src="/000/3/0/6/31603/userfiles/image/Walking(4).jpg" /></p>
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2016-05-02T09:15:08-04:00Good BuddiesRE: Annabel Lee<p> </p>
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<strong>Trudy Raven wrote:</strong></p>
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<p>By Trudy Raven</p>
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<p>Speaking of Annabel Lee here’s a copy of a post written ten years ago about an event in a Seattle hotel over seventy years ago. Originally written by Willie and edited by me on orders from the skipper.</p>
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<p>I was dozing off when I hear a knock on the door. In my skivvies I opened it and there stood shipmate Archie. “Can we come in” “We, who’s we”. With that the most beautiful woman I think I’d ever seen stepped into view. She was not only gorgeous but class to the max, so much so that I hurried back under the sheet so she wouldn’t see me in my underwear. Archie didn’t have much couth in those days and as has took off his uniform before laying in the bed all he said was; “this is my friend Willie”.</p>
<p>She didn’t say Hi ya, hi guy or hi sailor, she looked at me and said “hello Willie, I’m Annabel Lee” I would only hear two more words from her. I watched Annabel Lee as she took off her dress and folded it neatly on the back of a chair. In her slip now she moved silently and gracefully to the bed. Being very considerate as if not waken anyone, she gently eased herself in and lay on her back, face to the ceiling. With Archie between us and already snoring I knew I wouldn’t sleep anymore this night. After enough time passed, thinking she should be asleep, I lifted my head to look at her and saw her eyes open as she turned her head toward me.</p>
<p>The only thing that kept me from breaking a cardinal rule among brothers was another knock on the door. I opened it to see shipmate Byrdman and his girl looking for a place to sleep. I gave them a spare blanket and shortly they’re on the floor, if not asleep close to it. I checked Annabel Lee and she lay serenely like a goddess never moving from her original position.</p>
<p>Within a few minutes another knock and this time it was my room mate Jimmy and his date. I explained the best I could offer was another blanket and the floor. I locked the door, there was no more room here for tired shipmates. Regardless of how it appeared all of these people were only interested in sleeping.</p>
<p>For some reason, a watch perhaps, I got up early, quietly put on my brand new tailor made uniform and as unlatched the door I heard the last two words I would ever hear from Annabel Lee. Very softly she said, “goodbye Willie”. Stepping over Jimmy I crept to the bed. She touched my hand but said nothing. This wasn’t the time or place any more conversation and thinking there will be time for another meeting under different circumstances I left.</p>
<p>On the ferry to Bremerton I couldn’t get her out of my mind, I’ve got to see her again. When I saw Archie later he was no help at all. Where did she go, where was she from, did he get an address; all he could say was he put her in a cab and she had told him she was from Carmel CA. I was so outdone with him we were half way across the Pacific before I forgave him like it was his fault.</p>
<p>Edgar Allen Poe wrote a poem about an Annabel Lee but she couldn’t be nearly as beautiful as my Annabel Lee who lived by the sea in Carmel. We kept the room at the Caledonia with Jimmy and I holing up there on our three AOL days checking with Yorktowners everyday for news of when we would leave. I also checked cab drivers in the area for information but none were of any help. Annabel Lee was gone for good and would only be a haunting memory for years to come. And yes I wonder; could it have been only a dream.</p>
<p><span lang="EN">Boys and girls, I hate keep this story hanging around but a few more words of clarification are needed before it disappears from view. </span><span lang="EN">First; the words "lust" and "fornication" don't apply here.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">In those days when a woman took off a dress she was still more modestly covered in slip (petticoat) and undergarments than women are today in many party dresses. Scenes of women in slips routinely passed strict censorship by the Hays Office of Hollywood. They were definitely not considered prurient or 'a turn on' of any kind.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">Women often did this in circumstances like those in the story when they were comfortable with friends and didn't want their clothes to look like they had, "slept in them." </span><span lang="EN">There is no way I would have laid down in a bed in my uniform for the same reason. I considered myself decently covered in standard Navy issue skivvies except perhaps when awed by the presence of someone like Annabel and instinctively wanted to look my very best.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">Everybody in the room that night went there to sleep. </span><span lang="EN">You might say similarities in generations and wars are limited.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">Many of our institutions have become corrupt and each younger generation tends to apply their concept of morality to those before. I suppose we of the forties did the same to those before us.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">Speaking of conceptions, there were none in that room, that night. </span><span lang="EN">Did we on occasion go "all the way"; if we did, I wouldn't be writing about it. Surely not naming names. </span><span lang="EN">Was that OK Bea?</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">I didn't want this story with the main page stories because I'm not totally convinced my Annabel actually existed. Bea wasn't aware anyone else was in the room that night but she and I. When she woke up she was alone. Besides Archie and I only one of the other girls could attest how many people were in the bed and couldn't identify anyone anyway.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">Archie later recalled Annabel Lee left a group of four or five and approached him. He never tried to put make on her, he was only sixteen and didn't know diddly about women, nothing like us suave sophisticated eighteen year olds. She just started walking with him and he said yes when she asked if she could tag along.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">Even had I drunk all of the half pint myself it wasn't enough to make me hallucinate several hours after the fact. </span><span lang="EN">Was she a vision or an apparition, I don't think so. </span><span lang="EN"> believe she may have been a missionary, there were many about in those days. </span><span lang="EN">She could have decided poor innocent Archie had a foot in hell but saw me as a real challenge, not just a foot but a poor wretch hanging on the gates of hell by his finger tips crying for help.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">I heard her speak six words to me, I spoke none to her. Damn! </span><span lang="EN">Bea and Jimmy's girl stayed with us during our AOL days until we turned ourselves in to enter the second phase of our war as PAL's. </span><span lang="EN">As related in another story, We would have one more unexpected night to spend ashore, and what a night it was.</span></p>
<p><span lang="EN">One little bit of info, SP's and MP's had lists of all the men in the area who were AOL or AWOL. Anyone in uniform on the street during daylight hours was suspect and usually stopped for ID. </span><span lang="EN">It helped have someone check the landscape before venturing out in the daytime. Good girl Bea. </span><span lang="EN">She was small in size but had the giant heart of a pioneer woman.</span></p>
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2016-04-26T14:26:43-04:00Annabel LeeRE: Annabel Lee<p>Thanks to all of you for the opporutnity to share the stories and your comments. Sending hugs.</p>
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2016-04-18T14:41:02-04:00Annabel LeeRE: HIDDEN BEER<p>Here is something I never told you, Willie. After you told me this story back in 2007, I often wondered where you might have hidden it as I visited different areas of The Fighting Lady. Certainly, it was found and discarded. That would have been another story!</p>
<p>Always one I will remember.. Willie and the Hidden Beer!</p>
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2016-04-15T16:27:27-04:00HIDDEN BEER