Frankly Speaking -Christmas 1972

There we were off the coast of North Vietnam. History will record that U.S. forces were executing Operation Linebacker II, the Christmas bombing siege of North Vietnam. Some will say it worked while others speak too the fact that North Vietnam simply changed tactics. Regardless, a month or so later we were home, the U.S. was out of that mess and some of the P.O.W.s had beaten us home. I say it worked! It was OVER!!!

We had been on the line for some time and I was shocked when I entered the Comm/Nav shop on Christmas Eve. There stood (or should I say hung) a fresh green Christmas tree! Now, we all had our contacts but this was a little much. Evergreen trees weren’t readily available in the places any of us had contacts (Danang, Subic Bay, and Bangkok primarily). Then consider the fact that it was fresh! Where, How, Who, When did that thing get aboard an aircraft carrier in the midst of the most intense air campaign of the Vietnam war? I know who got it, but I don’t know how.

We had been deployed since April. Maybe a little Christmas was in order. And if you don’t understand what a “band of brothers” is you would if you had this experience.

Obviously, we lacked a stand. So as previously mentioned it was suspended from the overhead (ceiling). We had no ornaments but someone fashioned one out of an electronic component. Someone else went about going one up on the first contributor and on and on it went. It really wasn’t a surprise when someone thought to use chaff (aluminium foil cut to lengths designed to disrupt radar) as garland. And suddenly there was a decorated Christmas tree in our shop.

Well, it was an inpromtu party so we needed some treats! Everyone had hoarded their “care packages” from home waiting for the opportune time to enjoy a little Christmas cheer. This seemed to be it! A buffet of sorts was spontaneously arranged!

We had an ad hoc goodie store we operated selling Coke, Pepsi and candy bars to ourselves. The inventory was ours and all the receipts were either split amongst the group or re-invested in our next inventory purchase. Well, there was our drink! We emptied our stash. Fortunately we never had to restock it.

So we spent the evening together in the Comm/Nav shop. No booze, no kids, no wives, no girlfriends, no parents, no presents, no carols and no convenient excuses to call it a night. A ceasefire had been declared for Christmas day so we could all sleep in.

That was Christmas 1972

FRANKLY SPEAKING- Nice is Nice

The, “Sinking 60 from Dixie” had dropped the hook and we were waiting patiently for the deck monkeys to get the liberty launches in the water. OK, I’ll translate! The U.S.S. Saratoga, CV-60 (not so lovingly referred to as the Sinking 60 from Dixie) had anchored and we were waiting patiently for the liberty boats to be launched and, “Liberty Call” to be sounded. Bill and I had both stayed aboard the ship during our brief stop in Rota, Spain. As a result, we were both ready to get off the boat. I’m pretty sure the fact that we had anchored off Cannes, France also played into our eagerness to hit the beach.

We had showered, shaved and put on our civvies before wandering down toward the liberty line. Surprise! We weren’t the only two guys that thought that getting off the boat was a good idea. Apparently 3000 other guys had the same idea. Let’s do a little math. Our liberty boats held about 100 men. We normally only put 4 or 5 liberty boats in the water and it probably took an hour to make the round trip. Does “HURRY UP AND WAIT” mean anything to you? It was obvious we had a few hours to kill. So we headed up to the roof (flight deck) to get some fresh air and sunshine.

We went through the hatch into the catwalk that surrounds the flight deck. It’s quite a place. You are in a narrow open-air corridor. On one side is a 60 foot drop into the sea with a rail that’s about chest high to protect you. On the other side is the flight deck. On this day it was quiet, except that our squadron line crew was positioning an SH-3D Helicopter for launch. We noticed that the Squadron’s Skipper was seated in the Pilot’s seat and relaxed knowing that he would recognize us and not inform the Air Boss to get those two idiots away from the flight deck. The engines and the rotors weren’t turning so the situation didn’t warrant any concern on our part and realizing who was at the controls of the aircraft he wouldn’t be concerned about our being there.

Suddenly the rear door of the helicopter slid open. A crewman motioned for us to come over. Hey, if the Skipper summons, I respond immediately! When we got to the aircraft the crewman handed me his helmet and I heard the Skipper ask, “Where you guys going?” I responded, “Just going ashore, sir.” His response was great. “Well, if you come aboard I can guaranty you that no one will get where we’re going for 4 or 5 hours.” We jumped into the back of the aircraft without asking where we were going or why. It was the Skipper inviting us along!

We settled into the jump seats in the back as the engines were started and the rotor engaged. After the mandatory pre-flight checks were performed by the pilots, the helicopter became airborne and we headed down the coast. After about 15 minutes, we began descending and landed at an airport. We weren’t aware of where we were, but it was an airport.

The crewmembers opened the front personnel door and motioned us to come forward. Over the noise of the twin T58 turbojets, idling 3 feet above our heads, and the sound of the rotor blades still trying to beat the air into submission. The Skipper yelled, “Welcome to Nice, France. Let me know if you enjoy your private tour.” With that, we deplaned and found ourselves standing on the tarmac of the Nice airport. The helicopter taxied back out to the runway and took off, probably in route to one of the support ships which always escort an aircraft carrier.

We wandered toward what looked to be the terminal, entered the door and were immediately stopped by a French official. Fortunately the word Passport is fairly universal. Unfortunately we were members of the United States Navy and not required to carry one. Our military I.D. was the substitute document we carried! But why would a French immigration official know that? And where did we come from? And why are we here? And this guy’s English was as bad as our French. But, thank God for Stewardesses! They all speak English, even if they work for Air France.

After explaining our dilemma to the first stewardess we saw. And hearing her translate our explanation to the immigration official; he asked a couple of questions, once again translated as they were asked and answered. Then he picked up a phone and called someone, somewhere. Whoever it was, our story must have been good enough. We were immediately allowed to enter France and enjoy its sites.

For the next six hours Bill and I wandered the streets of Nice without bumping into another American, let alone another member of the U.S. Navy. Nice was very nice!
Of course, at the end of the day we had to figure out how to get back to the ship. But, logic told us to get back to Cannes where we’d find an ample contingent of Navy guys able to give us directions back to the Fleet Landing. Our logic was right! We made it back to the Fleet Landing in about 4 hours without a serious error navigating through the French Riviera. In retrospect, I’m not sure that was an accomplishment we should have been proud of!

ANOTHER SIGN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

DON'T LOSE YOUR HEAD
TO GAIN A MINUTE
YOU NEED YOUR HEAD
YOUR BRAINS ARE IN IT
**Burma-Shave**

Frankly Speaking- December 7

He was born in the late 1930’s. I’m not sure why his parents traveled to his grand parent’s home that year. But there he was, December 7, 1941. As fate would have it following the events of the day he was not allowed to return to his home. He was stranded.

He was born in the San Francisco Bay area. His parents were Japanese. Considering the United States treatment of ethnic Japanese (including natural born U.S. citizens) during World War II, maybe it could have been worse.

He began his education while in Japan. As he recalled to me, every morning they gathered to salute the Emperor (kind of a Japanese Pledge of Allegiance). On this particular day the sound of an aircraft flying over caught his attention and he turned to look up. The teacher leading the gathering saw his attention directed skyward and began to give him a lecture about saluting the enemy airplane.

The date was August 6, 1945; the time was just past 8:00am; the school he attended was just outside of Hiroshima.

I worked with him for 15 years and he passed this on once and in no greater detail than I’ve given in this writing. Funny, when he told me of this event in his life I was speechless. I had no questions to ask and I needed no clarification.

Sign on the side of the road

A HEAVY BEARD
BUT BALD ON TOP
DON'T YOU WISH YOU
COULD ROTATE THE CROP
**Burma-Shave**

ORCHIDS ANYONE?