It's Only Me- Chapter 11- Harry and Al's

I entered 1974 unemployed, a bit heartbroken and once again in search of a place to live. Jimmy was still in charge at 2132 and so I went to see him. By this time Michael Held had moved in to take my old room so I was set up in the unused living room.

I made a “pit” style bed out of a mattress surrounded by wooden crates, which also served as my closets, shelves and a desk. The fact that anyone coming or going had to pass through the living room never bothered me. I was always the last one to go to sleep anyway.

Finding a job was more complex- I was still trying to impress my parents so I went looking for another suit and tie type job similar to the one I had as a Buyers Assistant. After 2 weeks of taking the subway into Manhattan I was walking home along Kings Highway when I passed Met Foods/H and A Grocery. They were just off the corner of East 19th Street and around the corner from 2132. There was a sign in the window that said- “Part time bag boy wanted.” I went in and spoke with the owners- two Jewish fellows in their 60’s named Harry and Al. They were the names behind H and A Grocery.

Harry Falkowitz was a short, stout fellow who smoked the classic “big cigar”. Al Sussman was the opposite, tall and thin. They had been introduced to one another after having failed at their own businesses as a Grocer and Printer, respectively. They were ideal partners.

While one was frugal and cheap- the other was generous and gregarious. While one was the center of a happy family the other was a depressed and disappointed man. I liked them both immediately. They evidently felt the same way about me and so I was hired part time at $2.50 an hour which was the minimum wage at the time.

I quickly progressed from bagging groceries to working the register- which was one of those old National Cash Registers. In other words you had to be able to count and make change- unlike today where the machine tells you what to do. You could also work with the drawer open- which came in handy at “rush hour” each evening when people came in to pick up one or two items to complete their dinners. At times like these we would even resort to writing the prices on the grocery bag and add thenm by hand with a pencil I kept behind my ear, adding the items up before placing them in the bag. The bag, once I had written upon it, served as a receipt. In this way we could work as an extra register if needed.

Before long I was "full time" and being paid as follows; $2.50 an hour for the first 15 hours- this put me on the books in case a Labor Department Inspector showed up. The balance of my pay was in cash- about $5 an hour, which was pretty good for 1974. So at the end of each week I had about $200 – which was almost double what I would’ve made at the suit and tie job. My hours were 9AM-7PM Monday through Friday with a half day on Saturdays.

I lived one week to the next, starting out behind. Consequently I always owed my pay before I got it. This posed no particular hardship as Kings Highway was like a little village and I had accounts at every store I used. For instance- groceries I took as needed and it got written down in “the book”. At the end of the week when I got paid I would pay the store back for all that I had taken. Breakfast was free- consisting of a fresh, too hot to handle loaf of Italian bread smeared with 4 ounces of Philadelphia Cream Cheese and washed down with a quart of ice cold milk. Lunch and dinner were both eaten at Minerva’s, the Greek restaurant across the street from the store. I’d eat and they would mark it down. On Friday nights I would pay them off after dinner and we would begin again. I can still taste their Lamb Stew which was Tuesday nights special.

Laundry was done by the Greek woman on the next block twice a week and I paid her on Saturdays. Clothes were usually paid for in cash when I went shopping on Saturday- but if I needed credit there was no problem. All the store owners knew one another and the employees- if I didn’t pay them Harry and Al would and then take it from my pay. I am proud to say that never happened.

What a cast of characters we had working there! There was Ishmael, or “Izzy” as we called him, who was Puerto Rican and hit on all the women that came in the store. And I mean ALL the women- including the Rabbis’ wife! (She seemed pleased at the attention.)

There was Paul, a Jewish fellow who had gone off to Korea for the war engaged to an Italian girl. While he was over there she met and married another man. Her parents never forgave her and when Paul came home they took him in “until he got settled.” He had been there for over 25 years.

Then there was Bob, a vain and arrogant man, which I later realized was just a cover for him. His wife worked in Real Estate and made lots of money and I suppose his arrogance was the only way he could hold onto his pride.

We had 2 Mexicans in the store- Leo and his younger brother Angelo. Leo was legal- Angelo was not. Leo had a family of 5 living above the store next to ours. Angelo had a room nearby. They were both the brothers of Milton Perez, who delivered the groceries in a station wagon bought for him by the store every 2 years. Milton lived in a house 3 doors down from 2132 and his son Joseph would go on to become a Doctor.

We had a dairy manned by another Bob, a gentle and shy fellow who was a real old time dairyman. He was in charge of the walk in cooler where all the dairy items were stored, along with some beer for Paul who had an unquenchable thirst. The cooler was a funny place- we would drink there, hide there, and once Harry walked in with a customer to show her how “fresh our pot cheese really is” , only to find Paul screwing the local prostitute atop a crate of milk! We lost the woman as a customer but Paul stayed on.

Each evening at 5 PM, just before the evening “rush” would begin, Izzy would take a can of beer and go out front to drink it while leaning on the parking meter. All things being equal I would join him and smoke a joint. All the customers knew us and never said a thing. Officer Russo, the beat cop, would stroll by and Izzy would simply lower his can while talking to him. I would cup my joint in my hand, where it would die out. More than once, as Officer Russo would turn to leave, he would look back and say, “Need a light, Kid?” I never did….

Harry was Orthodox and had his family and the Temple. Al had a wife he didn’t like and a printing press. He kept the press in a separate room in his apartment in Far Rockaway, with the door padlocked. It was his own world. When he found out that I wrote he let me in and gave me a copy of his self published “Poems for Grandkids” by A. Zaydeh. A was short for Abraham, or Al, which was his first name, while Zaydeh was the Yiddish word for Grandpa. So it was really “Poems for Grandkids” by A Grandpa.

Al could be very cruel at times, especially when he had taken his afternoon nap in the "office" above the store. He would come down with two red palm imprints on his forehead from falling asleep at his desk, head in hands. He would take Seconals and sometimes add a "nip" to it. This accounted for his surly behavoir when he came back down. Occassionally this would cause him a problem.

One day Al had come down from his "nap" only to be confronted at the register with a little boy, about 10 years old, tugging at Al's white grocers jacket. "Mister, Mister, do you have any foreign coins?", he implored. "Go away kid, you bother me." was Al's reply in W.C. Fields fashion. The kid persisted and Al turned to him with a mock smile and patting him on the head said,"What a nice little boy- very nice. So you want some change-? Here's your change!" He then took the kids change and threw it out into the middle of Kings Highway. The kid ran crying from the store only to return with his Dad, one of those big fellows with hair on his shoulders and wearing a wife beater tee shirt. "Who took my kids money?" he yelled. "That one." said the kid. At this point Al opened the register and started shoving money at the kid while saying "What a nice boy- here- take some more- nice boy you have there!" The rest of us were in stitches.

But Harry was just the opposite. We would catch steady customers stealing small,high priced items and Harry would let them go. He reasoned that it made better sense to simply pad the next bill than to lose a customer. This infuriated Al, who would expose and publicly ridicule anyone caught while he was in the store. Like I said, they were perfect for one another. Al would throw them out and Harry would entice them back in.

About this time Johnny Carson made a remark on the "Tonight Show" that would jar the country and make Harry and Al very wealthy. It was in 1974 that Johnny Carson, remarking on a sugar "shortage" that was taking place, lampooned the shortage by saying there was a shortage of toilet paper on the way. Panic ensued with people loading up on the stuff. Coffee soon followed- remember this was just after the Arab oil embargo and the US was experiencing it's first shortages (all be it manufactured as opposed to real) since World War Two. So Harry and Al, through their contacts at the distibutor, where able to get tractor trailer loads of all the short goods. We rented extra space in any garage within 2 blocks of the store and added to the maze of sheds in the rear yard, filling them all with toilet paper, coffee and sugar. They made a killing buying at low prices and then selling at the current rate.

But Harry and Al were not mercenaries- they were really nice guys who cared about their employees. And they put their money where their mouths were.

Of the 3 Perez brothers only Angelo still had family behind in Mexico. A Wife and 5 children. His dream was to save enough money to bring them here.
Angelo could ape a few words of English and taught me several foul words and phrases in Spanish. He was a hard worker- about 40 years old. He sent his pay home and lived in a furnished room around the corner from the store. He never got to go home and see his family while saving to bring them here. He was an illegal and this was 1974. They still upheld the immigration laws back then so it was a risky business sneaking in and out.

There had been a slight recession in ’73 going into ’74.The Vietnam War had just wound down and Watergate had given us our first unelected President in Jerry Ford.

 
There had been talk of some cutback in hours or possibly some layoffs in the store in the fall months leading up to the holidays. Harry had been in and out at all odd hours compared with his usual schedule, which was etched in stone like the Tablets on Sinai. We assumed he had been meeting with bankers to negotiate some financing.

The holidays approached and with them all the excitement that is generated by the prospect of the “Christmas Bonus.” This boiled down to two very basic questions- how much and when? The tradition at Harry and Al’s had always been a weeks gross pay in cash on Christmas Eve just before closing.

Christmas Eve finally arrived and we rushed through all the last minute tasks before closing early for the holiday. Harry and Al were still busy counting the days receipts as the rest of us pretended to work, waiting for the “moment”.

Al and Harry stood behind the counter and we were all gathered on the customer side exchanging best wishes etc as Harry handed out the envelopes with our bonus. One for Milton, Izzie, Leo, Steve, Bob, Paul and myself. Angelo’s name was not called.

Meekly coming forward with hand outstretched Angelo spoke; “Me, dinero?” he implored, eyes showing the shame of asking. He was here illegally and there was no guarantee of a bonus for anyone, let alone this poor fellow. He continued, “ Me mucho trabajo- no dinero?” Al held his hand up, arm outstretched, palm facing Angelo and said, “ You no work bueno- you no dinero.” And then he turned away. The silence, as they say, was deafening. Angelo turned and ran to the basement to be alone with his disappointment and probably anger.

Suddenly from the basement we heard the sounds of laughter and tears. Seeing Harry and Al as they exchanged satisfied glances we knew things were not as they appeared to be. Milton and Leo seemed unusually calm as the rest of us herded toward the basement steps to investigate the cacophony of sounds.

There was Angelo, surrounded by his wife and five children, tears streaming down their faces as they embraced the greatest Christmas gift imaginable- one another.

And then we realized, Harry hadn’t been going to the bankers as we all thought. He had been going to Immigration arranging the visas and job commitment necessary to re-unite Angelo with his family.

There was not a dry eye as we left the store that night. We filed out under the caring gaze of 2 of the wisest men I have ever known, and I believe we had seen the Spirit of Christmas.

My own life was spiraling out of control in the area of drugs at this time. I would wake up in the morning, smoke a joint and head to work. I lived 2 blocks from the store but was always 5 minutes late. This annoyed the hell out of Al. He actually added the 5 minutes up and multiplied it by 300 days a year to prove that I was robbing him of 25 hours a year in wages. But I was a good employee and all the customers loved me so we let it slide.

During the day I would smoke pot in the back of the store, the front of the store, on top of the store, in the basement of the store and even in the walk in cooler. But I was really just waiting for 5 PM when I would take a Tuinol- 3 grain. This would result in my becoming a bit surly and the last 2 hours of the day were the most fun for me.

After work I would go for dinner at Minerva's and frequently fall asleep at the table or the counter. Manny and Bill, 2 of the owners at Minerva's would eventually wake me up with , "Hey Mr. Kid, you want to go home now?" They were always so kind and never made a fuss, even if my inebriated presence bothered some of the other customers. A few years later, while in the Navy, I sent them postcards and gifts from Greece and they were delighted.

I was still living at 2132 and one night a very strange thing happened- a good strange thing but one that I have often marveled at due to the nature of how it all happened.

The tray pictured here belonged to a friend's  Grandma Bee Bee. She lived at 1900 Quentin Road in Brooklyn, N.Y. When I was in Juinor High I thought nothing was classier than this tray- which was always filled with goodies like Bridge Mix and other delights we didn’t have in my home.

I’m not really sure of the year but it was around 1971 or so when Bee Bee passed away. I was offered a “souvenir” to remember her by- and I chose the tray. To me it epitomized an era of genteel living, when people had “company” on Saturday nights, or “guests” during the week for cards or Scrabble. TV came along and changed all that.

The real “meat” of this story involves the loss and later recovery of this tray- possibly with the aid of “cosmic” forces beyond our understanding or control.

The tray had been on top of a black steamer trunk which I used as a dresser in 1973 while living at 2132 Ocean Avenue in Brooklyn. Remember in July of 1973 I packed up and moved to Ohio where I ended up engaged to Monica and working in the paint factory.

In December of 1973 I left Ohio by car (a 1964 Ford Galaxy 500) for NY- trunk in tow. But the car didn’t make it and I was forced to abandon it on the side of Route 80 in Ohio within sight of an Arco station. Not being able to hitch with the trunk I carried it over to the service station and asked the owner if I could leave it there for a bit, intending to send for it later. The owner gave his consent and I lugged it up a ladder to the attic/storage area and continued to the airport and a flight to NY.

I mentioned to my friend that I had left the trunk at a service station in Ohio alongside Route 80. And then I don’t think I thought about it again except in a passing- “Gee, I wish I had my trunk back” kind of way.

So here it is, almost 2 years later at 2:30 in the morning and my front door bell rings back at 2132 Ocean Avenue. At the door is my friend with a black steamer trunk on his back going “Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas!” It was my trunk!

Inside we opened the trunk and I started going through all the things I had missed in the previous 2 years. And the big surprise was that not only was the tray in there- but my friend, who had given me the tray to begin with, had no idea it was in there!

Eventually I got the whole story- he had been driving back to NY from school at Ohio State in Antioch and along Route 80 found himself outside of Cleveland when he remembered that I had lived near there a couple of years back. And then he remembered that I had left a trunk at a service station somewhere alongside Route 80.

Looking up he saw the sign for an Arco station at the next exit and got off. He went in and asked the guy if he had ever stored a trunk for some tall, skinny guy with shoulder length hair. The reply was something like- “Yeah, and if he doesn’t come for it soon we’re throwing it out!” So he took it and drove through to Brooklyn and woke me up.

And that’s when he saw the tray!

We have pondered this little oddity between us over these many years. He didn’t know it was an Arco station- he didn’t know exactly where on Route 80 I had left it- and only a brief whim caused him to stop and check it out. Was it Bee Bee calling out to get the tray? Or just one of those odd coincidences that make life the joy it sometimes can be?

I don’t know- but I still have the tray.

Life would go on in this vein for 2 and a half years. The only change would be where I was living. In June of 1975 Mr. Rosenberg came down and knocked on our door. Smiling ear to ear. "Boys," he said, "We've sold the house and we're moving to Florida."

And so 2132 came to an end. It was time to find a new place to live. It was also the start of what I refer to as my "lost year."

It's Only Me- Chapter 12- The Lost Year

Work wise things were going well for me in 1975 through 1976. But personally this was a very lonely and depressing time. I was 21 years old and it was beginning to look like I would be working in a grocery store 6 blocks from where I had been born for the rest of my life.

I was drinking less and taking Tuinols and Qualudes in increasing quantities. I was smoking during the day and I was always at work- and doing my job well, but the nights were a different story altogether.

I spent most of my evenings walking alone, smoking the pocketful of joints that I always carried. I would take a Qualude or a Tuinol to even things out. Walking and singing in the streets became my nightly ritual. There was something comforting in the darkness that hid the pain I was feeling. I was lonely, wondering why my parents had given up on me.

My relationships at this time were either women from the grocery store who craved the attention they were not getting from their spouses- or else just someone that I would run into and get high with. The only love I got at the time was in the treatment I received at the store and the tolerance shown me concerning my drug use.

After 2132 was sold I began a migration from apartment to apartment. On the eve of my 21st birthday I was faced with eviction from an apartment on Ocean Avenue I had been sharing with Michael Held. This was the only argument I ever had with Michael. The apartment was in my name and I got half the rent from Michael each month. When the eviction notice came he stopped paying. I had not been using his share of the money for rent- buying pot and pills instead, so he felt that the last month should be free for him. I countered that since I was going to be evicted under my name alone and he was going across the street to his Mom’s house, he should pay me. Of course I was wrong. But words flew and Michael, in a move very uncharacteristic of him- took a pan of boiling water from the stove and threw it on my bare stomach! To my credit I did not shoot him. And he was so surprised at what he had done that we both ended up laughing hysterically. We then went to the roof with our big wooden TV and threw it down into the middle of Ocean Avenue. Call it male bonding….

The next night found me wandering the streets until after midnight. I went to a friends house and threw stones at his window. Creeping around the alley to the front door I went in quietly and spent the night there. In the morning my friends’ parents asked a few questions, fed me breakfast and I was on my way to work.

I really needed a place to stay and that day I had no idea what I was going to do. Harry and Al both offered the hospitality of their homes but I declined- out of shame I think.

But that very afternoon Donna came walking into Met Foods, leaving Duke tied up at the meter in front. She listened and then offered me the living room of her apartment on Avenue O and 19th Street. I quickly accepted and moved in that evening.

Donna was 31, I was 19. She was a hairdresser. I wanted to be roommates, and at first that is the way it went. But things began to change and I was not comfortable in the way things were turning out. One day I came home from work and Donna’s ex was there. I remember coming to on the couch with a knot on my head from being knocked out. Time to move.

I had become friends with Mia Mamoor, who worked at the Rainbow dress shop on Kings Highway and East 16th Street. He had been introduced to me through Osman and Cumin Raji, two brothers from Malaysia who were janitors in my parents’ apartment building. I used to go to their room on the ground floor and smoke the best opiated hash on the planet.

Mia had an apartment on Ocean Avenue and Avenue L and that is where I moved next. We would meet after work and go back to his place where he would cook swordfish and curry. It stunk up the whole building and the neighbors were complaining about it. One night we made so much fish that we invited the neighbors in to eat. Only a few accepted- but when they saw and tasted the food they never complained again.

Mia was dating a Chinese American girl named Karen. Her parents owned some restaurants in New York as well as Virginia. Her Dad spoke a little English and I think he told me the stories about Mao and the final days of the Revolution in the late 40’s. Although they did not really care for Mia they never interfered with her seeing Mia and they eventually married.

A funny story about Mia, Osman, and Cumin concerns John DiStefano. One night we all got together and went to Chinatown for dinner. With Osman and Cumin doing the ordering we were in for some rare treats. John was a bit more drunk than the rest of us. The food began arriving at the table and we all began to eat. Then the fish came out on a platter – whole- and with the eyes still in. Osman- ever the gracious host- took his chopsticks and expertly plunked the eye out of the fish, offering it to John. This was actually a sign of honor and respect. John puked and Osman, unfazed, plopped the eye in his mouth, savoring this delicacy.

Another funny thing about this period of my life is that although we were always talking politics, religion, God etc. it never once came up that I and many of our mutual friends were Jewish. You see they were Islamic. Mia actually did the foot washing etc at night. But it was never a point of discussion. We were all friends and that was the most important thing. It really wasn’t until years later that I thought of it!

After Mia’s place I had a rented room in a nearby apartment for a couple of months. Then I moved into Sheldon Wassermans mom’s home on East 22nd Street- across from PS 197 where I had gone to Kindergarten. She was elderly and alone so Sheldon thought it would work out for us both. It did- kind of, sort of.

Sheldon was married to the cutest little Italian woman, her name was Rochelle, everyone called her Shelley. So they were Shelley and Sheldon. We had a little arrangement between us- I gave then pot- they gave me pills. They were in their early 30’s and I was 21. Things got bad for Sheldon with the pills and so Shelley sent him over to live with his mom for a bit. There was plenty of room so it was not bad. And soon we were joined by his nephew Stevie and started to call the place “The Clinic.” Sheldon’s mom was not so amused but soldiered on anyway- playing host to this band of mis-fits. Secretly I think she was glad for the company.

My evenings were now spent on the corner of Avenue O and East 12th Street. There was an open air drug scene outside of St Brendan’s Church and most of the dealers were the kid brothers of various friends. Sometimes I would fall asleep on the corner, only to be awakened at about 1 in the morning by Judy Lannigan or Denise Woods and they would point me towards home. But at 9:05 AM I was back at Met Foods with my Italian bread and milk, ready for another day.

One night, as I was standing in the schoolyard of PS 197 watching Phillip Held play softball, I noticed some objects in the sky- very bright and larger than stars. I immediately identified them as Venus and Mars. Later in the year I pointed out Jupiter. Now no one had ever shown me these before- and I don’t know how I knew what they were- but they were.

I could see that a change was in order- I had traveled from Bedford Avenue and Kings Highway, where I was born in 1954 to East 22nd Street and Kings Highway- a distance of 3 streets in 21 years! And I was working on East 19th Street and Kings Highway. My whole life was becoming defined by these 6 city blocks! I could see that it was time to move on- and so I began to make plans.

I would join the Navy. And Harry and Al would have to change that old sign in the window- the one that had read “Part Time Bag Boy Wanted” would now read “2 Full Time Men Needed.”

It's Only Me- Chapter 13- A Little Background

It has occurred to me that I have left out an integral portion of my life prior to leaving home. My Mom's illness was undoubtedly a very large portion of some of my problems - from drug abuse to the lack of any relationship with my brother. This is all an important part of my narrative. No excuses are being offerred here. Anything I did do was of my own choosing. But the background is a very necessary part of understanding who I was and even who I am.

My Mom developed ulcers around the time that my parents had that "chart/demerit" thing going which caused conflict between my brother and I. Each week, as I've said- the one with the least demerits got to go to the store and pick out a prize while the other watched and sometimes wept. That someone was usually me.

Looking back I realize that this was all the result of my Mom's nerves. She simply couldn't handle 2 small boys and developed ulcers. The blame somehow got shifted to me and I paid quite a price emotionally while growing up. Even today I carry the big "G" for guilt; and it is one heavy fucking cross to bear.

When my Mom became sicker with collitis and cancer we were told repeatedly that "this was the end" and Mom wasn't going to make it. Imagine going to school while wondering if Mom is dead or alive. You don't learn much under those conditions.

My brother and I fought viciously, to the point of the neighbors calling the cops. Our fights even encompassed knives at times, taken from the kitchen. This was all a product of my Mom's illness.

Make no mistake, I bear her no ill will in any of this. She was a victim as well. But I found that each time I was told that she wasn't going to make it- I found myself wishing that she wouldn't. Then I wouldn't be living under that dark, depressing cloud of uncertainty. That's where the "Big G" comes from.

The only good part is that I spoke with my Mom extensively concerning these feelings in the days leading up to her death. I would call her from phone booths all over the world while sailing. The last calls were from Norfolk and she told me, "You know you will never be able to live until I die." Not a question- a statement. And my reply? "I know, Mom, I know." And she responded with, "And that's okay." And it is.

I just needed to add this and one other thing- the trips we took as a family.
From 1963 through 1970 we went by car to Mystic Seaport, Fire Island, Montauk Point, Philadelphia (when the bell was sitting outside and you could touch it)Florida, Washington DC twice, Virginia, Dairy Farms in New Jersey and Coal Mines in the Appalachians.

My hat is forever off to my parents for the efforts they went to and the expense of money we did not have to take us on these trips. The memories are truly priceless.
So at 21 I was an enigma. On the one hand I loved these people who rejected me. And on the other hand I hated them for the rejection.

With that said- I can now move on back to the story at hand.

Now let's see, where was I?

It's Only Me - Chapter 14- In the Navy- Boot Camp

1976 was the 200th Birthday of the Declaration of Independence. The country had begun preparing for it in 1975 with special offers and special packaging of products. You couldn’t escape it. I have often been asked if that is what lead to my joining the Navy in September of 1976. The answer is no.

My motivation for joining the service was simple. I wanted to get out of Brooklyn for good. I wanted to be away from all the drugs and also my parents. Although I had not seen them often during the last 4 years I felt as if they were a threatening presence, always lurking in the background, waiting for me to “see the light.”

In August of 1976 I went to the Recruiting Office located on Flatbush Avenue at the junction of Nostrand Avenue. I took some aptitude tests and then had to sit for an interview. The man interviewing me was black and I think was a Chief Petty Officer.

We started with some routine questions- “Do you do drugs?” was one of the first ones-I thought he was being sociable and so pulled out a baggie of weed and said, “Yeah, wanna smoke?” I thought he was going to pass out! He asked again and I countered with, “What drugs?” I was hustled outside and he explained that I had to answer “No” to the drug question. I said that I was not interested in lying to him. He produced a Drug Waiver which read “ I have experimented with marijuana about 3 or 4 times and found it not to my liking. I have no interest in taking drugs.” I signed it and then got my contract for 4 years Active Duty. At the completion of Boot Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois I would be allowed to choose from 70 different schools. I chose “OJT” which is short for On The Job Training in the fleet. So I chose no school, electing to go straight to the fleet and have a look about me before choosing anything. I have never regretted that choice.

Around this time Iona Derman came by H and A to say goodbye. She had graduated 6 months early from Madison in 1972 and I believe started Brooklyn College. She was now transferring to another school somewhere. She came by in a little green Datsun B-210 and I felt that I was seeing a good friend for the last time. It would be another 31 years until we would be in contact again.

I informed Harry and Al of my decision, which they tried in earnest to talk me out of. But when a person decides to join the service there is virtually no chance of talking them out of it. Usually it is a move made of long planning or else in desperation. Mine was a bit of both.

I had been fascinated by my Dads time in the Navy and had also long dreamt of joining the Merchant Marine- civilians who transport goods by ship. I needed to be in a Union to work as a Merchant and to be in the Union you had to work on the ships you couldn’t work on unless you were in the Union. So you see it was a conundrum. Realizing that my best shot at getting in the Union would be as a Veteran with sea time under my belt I elected to join the Navy. Also I really needed to break the cycle in which I was living.

So, on a balmy September morning, after a raucous night of debauchery I set off to Fort Hamilton and the Armed Forces Induction Station. I was several hours late and my Recruiter was actually riding through the streets of my neighborhood looking for me. He drove me to Ft. Hamilton where I went to sleep on the long bench waiting to be processed.

I was awoken with a kick from an Air Force Sergeant bellowing, “Get up slimeball- your sleeping days are done!” I rose slowly, looked at his uniform and said, “Fuck you- I’m Navy.” And went back to sleep. A few minutes passed and I was again awoken in the same barbaric manner- this time by a Navy Chief Petty Officer. “Get up fuckhead! You’re in the Navy now! And your ass is mine!” Standing up and looking him right in the eye I said- “This is still Brooklyn and I ain’t took the oath yet so my ass is my own!” He was pissed but walked away and I went back to sleep for another hour.

I awoke and began to survey my surroundings and think about what I was actually doing. Before I could think too much I was sworn in with about 50 people and divided into groups. One group was going to Great Lakes and the other to Florida where a new boot camp had just opened. That one had women as well as men. But I was slated for Great Lakes along with a Puerto Rican guy named Orlando Cruz. So I kind of kept an eye on him figuring that if I stayed close to him I wouldn’t have to listen much and still get where I was going.

A little while later we were at JFK and I was wondering what had happened to change our travel from rail to air. I had been looking forward to the 24 hour train ride to Chicago and having one of those sleeper rooms on the train. That’s when I realized that Orlando was where the other boot camp was. Orlando Cruz heard “If you are going to Orlando then line up here.” He had only heard his name “Orlando- here” and lined up with me following him.

What happened next was the fastest car ride I have ever had- from JFK to Grand Central in like 20 minutes in the middle of a weekday. I am sure it was a record.

Boarding the train is still a bit fuzzy but once we were on the way everything is crystal clear. They should never put recruits on a train with decent people. It sullies the image of the Armed Forces. We spent the next 24 hours headed to Chicago from New York by way of Connecticut, picking up more recruits in every town. In between stops we made unwanted advances to every woman on board, smoked pot, drank to excess and had food fights. Going through the late summer/early fall cornfields of Indiana we tossed flaming stacks of the New York Times into the fields. We were uncontrollable and crazed.

We arrived in Chicago the next afternoon about 4 PM. From there we had to catch a commuter train to Great Lakes- about 30 miles or so. Again, we should not have been allowed to mix with normal people.

Arriving at the gates to Great Lakes was everything you have seen in the movies. People scream at you, call you foul names right in your face, spit flying in your eyes.

And this was just the beginning.....

It's Only Me- Chapter 15- Learning the Ropes

We were housed in new barracks- which looked more like a school dorm building. I think I had been expecting the old wooden type barracks from World War II. The first few weeks were blisteringly hot in the daytime. Especially on the Parade Ground where we practiced our marching and drilling. Some guys would pass out. We also had to do exercises in the morning and afternoons. In between these times we were learning to swim, shoot rifles and fight fires. We were also in the classroom alot.

We learned Navy History, U.S. History, Maritime Law, Standing Orders, the Uniform Code of Military Justice and knot tying. At night we were confined to our barracks and shined our shoes, folded our laundry and generally studied for the tests that we had each day. Failing a test got you set back a week so no one wanted to fail.
There was also a period of adjustment for many of the recruits who had never been away from home. There were several fights- nothing serious- just attitude adjustment when necessary.

I was one of the older recruits- being over 21. The younger guys were the hardest to deal with. They came from high schools with a Rambo type attitude. Sometimes they needed a reality check.

I had not joined to march and learn tricks so the Company could win "flags." I had joined to go to sea and had no interest in marching. I was also coming off of several years of using barbituates, so I was a bit restless. This lead to my being a less than enthusiastic marcher. When they said left I went right and vice versa. I was approached concerning this by several of the guys in my squad. It was getting pretty nasty and finally the shit hit the fan. I was approached by the Recruit Petty Officer, which is a make believe rank for a recruit to learn how to lead. This guy was from Philadelphia and a black guy. Race had nothing to do with it. He told me to meet him in the "drying room" where we placed wet clothes to dry after scrubbing them. Never one to back away from a fight I met him there after lights out- the whole company knew what was coming down and waited in their bunks for "Cuffy" to emerge from the drying room after having kicked my ass. They were a little bit disappointed.

You've seen the fights in movies- they go on forever with chairs being busted over someones head etc. Real life is much different. Someone has to throw the first punch and take the risk that they may lose. Since I had been invited to this party by Cuffy I figured it was up to him to strike first. Instead he began to talk to me- stuff like- "I don't want to kick your ass but..." I got tired of the bullshit and hit him first. We then struggled a bit with one another but not too many punches got thrown.

Then he wanted to talk about how we should walk out of the drying room and in what order! I said "Fuck you" as I pushed him aside.You could hear the collective gasp from the rest of the company as I walked out first. Cuffy had stayed behind and several guys rushed in to see if he was okay. Several guys walked back past my bunk, kicking it and letting me know that this was not the end. Hell, I didn't know anything had begun!

So we did this 2 more times- like a ritual. The last was the best and put an end to the whole drama- which was like Public School when someone would say- "Meet me after 3 o'clock." This last guy was the company boxer- broad at the shoulders and slim at the waist. Also typical weak knees. So he threw the first punch, which glanced off my forehead. My response was a kick in his knee and a caution that he should stay down. He started to get up so I kicked him just under the chin. That finished it.

The next day I was summoned by the Company Commander- a Chief Petty Officer named Spencer. He asked me what the trouble was and I told him, "I joined to see the world and sail the seas. In 5 weeks the only water I have seen is showers and shitters!" He asked why I wouldn't march. I answered that the Navy was a stepping stone for me to join the Merchant Marines when I got out. I was not interested in Mickey Mouse marching for flags.

So we arrived at a compromise- I would be the Navy's first "non marcher." Instead of marching I would be the new Company Clerk and take head counts, draw up the watch bill etc. So the rest of bootcamp passed pretty easily.

By October it began to snow. I mean snow! And we had "Snow Watches". This was a task no one wanted. 24 hours a day there was someone with a shovel posted outside the barracks. If any snow fell he had to shovel it immediately. So you would hear the scraping of the shovels on the sidewalks all night and day- even when it was a flurry. Going from the summer heat into the fall months really stretched our health thin and we had a bit of flu going around. But mainly we were getting stronger and learning how to deal with the "Chain of Command."

One of the best things that happened to me in Great Lakes was the day we were first allowed to go to the store. We marched there early, before the Px was open for the regular Navy guys. We had lists of what we were permitted to buy, with all the costs deducted froim our first paychecks at the end of boot camp. We were allowed soap, shaving cream, razors, toothpaste and floss. I snuck a transistor radio and some batteries in my stack. It seemed an eternity until it was my turn at the checkout. All the while I was afraid that the radio would be discovered and I would be sent back to week one. This was already week 6.

Somehow, somewhere there is a God that watches over fools like me. The woman at the register looked at me, looked around and just tossed the radio and batteries in the bag, saying nothing. She didn't charge me because if she had it would have been a strike against her for not following orders. She knew what we were allowed to buy.
So wherever you are, whoever you are, thank you for that kindness.

With my radio concealed in my pillow at night I was able to listen to AM stations from all over. Also FM for a bit of music, but mainly I played that radio on AM using those little pink earphones. I think that radio helped me get through bootcamp. It was my little secret.

After about 6 weeks they let us go to Chicago on liberty. I suppose they wanted to see who would get falling down drunk or in a fight etc. But it was great. Everyone got gloriously drunk. Some had to be carried back. But we got a good look at Chicago and the Miracle Mile.

Twice during boot camp my friends sent me a bit of pot to smoke. This is where being the Company Clerk came in handy. At night, before Taps I would write myself a pass and go for a walk by myself. I would smoke a thin joint and then head back to the barracks. I remember one particular evening when I took a guy named Zotosky with me for a walk. It was 10 degrees and snowing lightly. It is one of my favorite memories of boot camp.

After 12 weeks or so we had to put in for duty stations. This was a silly exercise because you only got what they gave you. I really lucked out and was assigned to a fleet oiler. The USS Neosho would be my first ship. And the fact that it was an oil tanker fit right in with my plans to go into the Merchant service after the Navy.

In mid December we graduated- I did not invite my folks and had myself posted as a volunteer to escort everyones relatives from the parking area to the Drill Hall where the ceremony would be held. It was pure heaven to walk and talk with normal people after so many months.

So with boot camp behind me I headed back to New York, this time by plane. We were wearing the new CPO type uniforms which looked kind of like a stewards outfit. More than once I was approached by someone wanting me to carry their bags. I explained the uniform and accepted the apologies. But the third time I had an inspiration. A woman approached me and handed me her bags saying, "Follow me young man, I'm running late." I kept behind her making a sharp left into the men's room. When I came out I had no bags with me.

It's Only Me- Chapter 16- Leave and My First Ship

With orders in hand I went home for 30 days leave. I was scheduled to join the USS Neosho, AO-143 (a fleet oiler) in Cadiz , Spain on January 14th.

Nothing much had changed in Brooklyn during the time I was gone. The same people were still on the same corners. I became aware for the first time of Faulkners’ credo “You can’t go home anymore.”

The most memorable thing that occurred during my leave was a chance meeting with Mark Shorrs’ mother Estelle on Kings Highway. I was at H and A Foods paying a visit when I ran into her. She was very surprised to see that I had joined the Navy. She also had some astonishing news to tell me. Mark had married Lois Lefkowitz, the girl who lived across the street from him since they were kids!

What made this discovery even more astonishing was the fact that I had seen Mark for the first time in 3 years just before leaving for boot camp. After high school we had gone down separate paths, he went to college and I worked and generally did nothing productive. He had been working at Ripley Clothing on Kings Highway but we rarely saw one another.

When we did meet we attempted to catch up on what each of us was doing. He said he was getting married to Lois Lefkowitz. I didn’t believe him as they had been fighting since they were 14! And when I told him I was joining the Navy he just looked at me and said, “After 3 years of not seeing each other you give me this bullshit?” And we walked away- saying we’d see each other soon, which of course we didn’t.

So now Estelle Shorr was telling me that they were married and telling them that I was in the Navy! And that’s when we started being friends again. They had moved to Canarsie and I went to visit them. It was like no time had passed and our friendship was renewed.

Things at my parents house were still the same old crap. Nothing I did pleased them and they annoyed the hell out of me. So I began staying at Mark and Lois’ place whenever possible. Eventually they bought a house in Belle Harbor, a residential area in Rockaway, Queens. Mark and I had gone there with my Uncle Irving one day when we were about 17 and Mark fell in love with the area. Little did I ever dream that he would eventually buy a home there.

Anyway, leave finally ended and I was dropped off at JFK by my Dad on January 14th, 1977 to catch a seaplane to Philadelphia. From there I would catch a plane to Madrid, Spain. From there I would catch another plane to Cadiz and the USS Neosho. Things didn’t quite work out.

The seaplane couldn’t land in Philadelphia due to ice so we turned back to NY and I got a commuter flight to Philadelphia. My plane to Spain was late so I had no trouble catching it. It was a 757 I think. It was the first time I had been on a plane with a lounge and an observation deck above the passenger area. To top it all off there were so many empty seats that it was possible to take the 6 center seats and fold the armrests up to create a bed! There were plenty of pillows and blankets to use. All in all it was a great flight.

Landing in Madrid was an eye opener. There were citrus trees everywhere. I had just picked an orange when I heard a clicking sound- like a safety being switched off. I turned and faced a Spanish soldier wielding a machine gun and jabbering at me in Spanish. I wish I had a picture of myself as I tried to re-attach that orange to the tree! Even the soldier had to crack a smile as he lowered his weapon and motioned for me to walk away. I thought to myself- “Toto- we’re not in Kansas anymore!”

The plane to Cadiz arrived and we flew to Rota, the Naval Station on the Atlantic Coast. The Neosho was gone and I spent 5 days in the Transit Barracks. Orders finally arrived for me to join the ship in Augusta Bay, Sicily and so I flew there on a Navy C-130.

There are no seats on these cargo planes so we sat in cargo nets and dined on “boxed lunches.” These are cardboard boxes that each contain a bologna sandwich, an apple and a container of warm milk. Get hungry enough and it’s actually pretty good. We were hungry enough.

The plane landed at Siracusa, a Naval Air Station on Sicily and about an hour or so away from our destination of Augusta Bay. At the Siracusa airport I had my first real Italian food- Rigatoni in meat sauce. It was fantastic! And cheap!

From Siracusa we boarded a bus that would take us all to the Neosho, which was waiting with boilers on line to get back to sea. We arrived at 11 that night and were housed in Sick Bay until berthing arrangements could be worked out. Some of us- most- were going to be transferred to other ships. There were only 2 of us assigned to the Neosho.

I fell fast asleep in Sick Bay with the sounds of whistles and bells and people running all around. I wondered what was going on so late at night and whether this was a typical night aboard. Then I fell into a deep sleep.

I woke to the sound of a Bosuns Pipe and the 1MC crackling “Reveille, all hands heave out and trice up. Breakfast on the mess decks.” I got up, washed and went in search of the mess deck.

This was my first ship and it seemed huge! I found the mess deck and had my first meal aboard. French toast, bacon and tea. There were lots of foods to choose from, like fried bologna, eggs, pancakes, potatoes and everything else from fresh fruits to soda! I ate and then decided to look around the ship. I asked someone how to get to the main deck. They told me to step out that hatch at the rear of the mess deck. So I did.

I was dumbfounded, shocked and awed! Unknown to me, we had left Augusta Bay immediately after I stepped on board the night before. All around me was sky and ocean in a big circle! There was no land in sight and the sky was like a dome over my head. This was the first time I had ever been out of sight of land. Every science lesson I had ever had suddenly jelled in my head and I recognized that we are indeed a sphere in the midst of something larger. And consequently we, as people, were quite insignificant.

One of the first things a new crew member is required to do is to work on the mess decks, in the scullery or in the Officers Ward Room as a waiter. I was tapped to work in the Ward Room. This was like an insult to me. So I was determined to get out of this assignment.

Ships at sea roll and pitch. Serving food is not an easy task. I decided on a short course of action taking advantage of nature and the ships roll. The first meal I was required to serve was lunch. I brought the bowls of soup to the Officers table with my thumb in the soup as if I were having trouble holding the bowl. When this was called to my attention I replied not to worry as the soup was not hot. When the steaks were served I held one hand beneath each plate with my other hand on top of the steak itself. When I was admonished for this I replied that I didn't want the steak to fall off the plate- again. So my Wardroom experience, by design, was short lived and I went to work in the crews galley as an assistant to the cook for 5 weeks.

After mess cooking was completed I was assigned to a Deck Division. This is the part of the crew that takes care of the ships rigging, winches, cargo gear and mooring lines. They also are responsible for painting the ship, stripping it and painting it again in a never ending process to battle the salt erosin from the sea. Deck Division also stands watch, manning the helm,lookout positions and the ships small boats. We had a 24 foot Captains Gig and two 40 foot utility boats which were primarily used to ferry the crew back and forth from anchorage to the ports we called on. And on an oiler like Neosho we also manned the "rigs."

I was asigned to Rig 8 as a line handler for the refueling hose. A short lesson is in order here to explain what we did with these rigs.

When ships are at sea it is vital, in the military sense, that they be kept "topped off" with fuel so as to allow them to stay at sea longer. This also applies to the delivery of food and ammunition. In the 1970's the United States had fewer ships than the Soviets but we could keep ours at sea longer due to our expertise in the art of Underway Replenishment.

Ships like the Neosho are contacted by Task Group Commanders to meet at certain positions and refuel the Task Group. This requires ships to come alongside the oiler and carefully maintain course and speed while running 150 feet alongside one another at about 15 knots. The forces of hull suction and bank cushion are constantly at work- trying to throw you off course and cause a collision. Now a days this is all done by computer. Not when I was in. We had a course to maintain but it takes a special helmsman to "feel" the ship and counter those forces to avoid a collision.

After taking station a thin nylon line is sent over to the other ship by means of a specially fitted M-14. The end of this line is attached to a larger rope and then a steel cable. When the receiving ship gets the cable it is attached to a padeye welded on the deck. At this point the oiler "tensions" that line by means of a Hydraulic Ram Tension Rig. This raises the line on the oilers side, enabling a hose on "trolleys" to roll across to the receiving ship. It is then "seated" and the pumping of fuel begins. The whole time this is happening there are 5 guys on winches controllong the tension of the steel cable and the trolleys that hold the hose. Too much slack and the hose goes in the water and the rig is lost. Too little slack and the cable will part with a supersonic crack when 15,000 pounds of tension is exceeded. The potential for damage to the ships as well as the crew are very high. But this is what gave us our superiority over the Russians during the Cold War. The Russians still had to stop and refuel from astern, making them sitting ducks for an attack.

So I was at sea at last- something I had dreamt of since I sat on the beach as a child, wondering what was beyond the horizon. Now I knew.

We visited so many places in that time it would be hard to recount them all. One of my favorite port calls was in Kalamai, Greece. We would be the last US Navy ship allowed in that port for over 10 years after our visit. I have always maintained that this was the result of a mis-understanding. Here is what happened.

We went ashore from our anchorage using the 40 foot utility boats. When we arrived in this small Greek town we were a bit disappointed at the lack of whores, drugs and a proper "red light" district. There was no understanding on our part that Greece had just come out of a long period of dictatorship. The Beatles had been banned in 1967 along with alot of other things, so really this was a clash of 2 different worlds with neither side prepared.

Shortly after arriving ashore we discovered Ouzo- a clear and opiated liquor to which most Americans are not accustomed. Now American sailors tend to go ashore in groups- African American with African American, Hispanic with Hispanic, Whites with Whites etc. This is where the misunderstanding comes into play.

Some of the Mexicans hung out with the African Americans. After a bit of Ouzo one Mexican started fighting with an African American crewmate. It is not uncommon for crew members to duke it out while drunk so no one thought much of it. But just then some of the Southern boys from our ship turned the corner and saw dark people fighting with not so dark people. And they jumped in on the lighter side. At this point the Greek Army Patrol rounded the corner and saw what they thought was a riot. So they stepped in with clubs flailing. And now here comes the American Shore Patrol-comprised of Neosho crew members. They saw the Greek Army beating up American sailors in the street. So they began to fight with the Greek Army.

At the same time there were bands of drunken sailors marauding through the streets making unwanted advances towards anything that walked, crawled or flew. I mean it- there was even a report of a rooster being molested that night! And the Mayors car was somehow driven off the pier. We were amazed at how long the lights stayed on under the water as the car sank.

The next few hours are a bit hazy but eventually the Greek Army and American Shore Patrol formed a wedge with one another and drove us all back using batons, to the fleet landing. There we were loaded into the 40 footers and after several trips we were back on board- still fighting.

The next morning the Mayor of Kalamai came out with the Greek Orthodox Bishop and ordered the Neosho to weigh anchor and depart. The Captain was furious with us and we were denied liberty for the next several ports. And, as I said, it would be more than 10 years before another American Navy ship would be allowed back into Kalamai. Chalk one up for our side!

During my time aboard Neosho I would make 2 voyages across the Atlantic to the "Med" seeing all of Southern Europe and even North Africa. We had a fire in after steering which left me very grateful for the firefighting training in bootcamp. We also learned how to load and fire the 3" - 58's that we carried along with the 5"- 30's. We even made a cruise down to Brazil, crossing the Equator and making me a Shellback.
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On the day of the crossing the crewmembers that are already Shellbacks wake up extra early and haul down the flag, replacing it with a Jolly Roger. Then they roam the ship dumping sleeping "Pollywogs" from their berths and ordering them topside. The scene is remarkably like a Mutiny. The Shellbacks are dressed as pirates and it was hard to tell who was who under the disquises. The Pollywogs that do participate are then lined up on deck where they are made to crawl through a 40 foot chute filled with rotted garbage from the mess decks. It's best to be one of the first so you can avoid the puke of the others that go before you. You are then forced to crawl along the entire metal deck in the blazing sun barefoot and in shorts. While you are doing this you are beaten with cut off lengths of fire hose. And at the end you are required to kiss the Bosuns belly before the Chaplain annoints you with crude oil. And when it is all over you are a Shellback.

In April of 1978 the Neosho was sold to Military Sealift Command, a civilian component of the Navy. In order for the ship to undergo a "yard period" in drydock we had to "de-fuel" the ship. After pumping out all the fuel the tanks are aired out with huge fans and then men are sent into these tanks with dust pans and small buckets to scrape the sludge out by hand. You are actually working in a 60 foot by 60 foot tank which is 60 foot deep and still filled with visible fumes. It is a thankless task.

And so after 16 months aboard my first ship I was going to be transferred to another oiler. The USS Neosho was my training ground but the USS Milwaukee- AOR-2 would be my home for the next two and a half years. And she would remain in my heart forever.

It's Only Me- Chapter 17- USS Milwaukee

My transfer from Neosho was a low key affair. The Milwaukee was moored 2 piers down from Neosho at Norfolk Naval Station. So on a rainy and cold April day I shouldered my seabags and walked to the Milwaukee. This would be my home for the next 2 and a half years.

If I thought the Neosho was big at 28,000 tons displacement, then the Milwaukee was huge. She carried 7 million gallons of fuel compared with the Neoshos 5 million gallons. Her draft was 36 feet fully loaded. With a beam of 98 feet and a length over 800 feet long she was a behemoth!

She was also a lot newer than Neosho which was built in 1952. On Neosho it was not uncommon to wake up with something scurrying across your chest or crawling up your arm. The Milwaukee by comparison was launched in 1969 in Newport, Rhode Island and was clean as a whistle.

The Captain was a “maverick”. That is someone who joined as enlisted and went on to become an officer. It was quite a feat and the crew loved him. This was Captain Hawkins. He knew every ones name and every ones job assignments. He had an open door policy and encouraged the crew in circumventing the Chain of Command in order to get things done.

She was a hard working ship, never pausing too long before heading back to sea and more assignments. She also dispensed food and ammunition along with all the same fuels that we handled on Neosho. It was clear that we would never go hungry. And that we would always be busy!

We had a sponsor in the Milwaukee Beer Company. They provided us with a supply of beer for recreational use when the ship threw parties ashore. Our engines were painted with the Milwaukee Beer emblem as were the sides of our 2 helicopters. We carried 2 CH-46 Seahawks and housed them in a hangar on our aft helo deck. This was also an area where the crew hung out at sea, playing basketball and Frisbee. It was rumored that you could track us simply by following the trail of Frisbees and basketballs that had gone overboard at various times. Hey, it’s hard to make a free throw while the ship is rolling.

I was assigned again to a deck Division. I stood watches and did maintenance. I was beginning to realize that I should have taken a school.

When you first come aboard any ship you are assigned things like a lifeboat, a duty station, a cleaning task, etc. My first UnRep (Underway replenishment) station was on the flight deck as a "Cargo Hooker." This involves attaching a 6 foot lightweight plastic pole to a cargo net that is filled with supplies. These supplies can range from ammunition to food or clothing. You stand in the center of the helo deck and when the chopper is about 5 feet over your head (an awe inspiring experience to be sure!) you "hook' the pole to the bottom of the helo and away she goes.

I was preparing to go on deck when an old Chief petty Officer handed me a steel shackle and said, "Here kid, better take one of these so you don't get blown overboard." He was joking so I put the shackle down and stepped out onto the helo deck. Here comes the first chopper. It gets about 10 feet over me and the downward force of wind from the rotors has me reeling like a drunk! I get the cargo hooked and run back into the hangar. Finding 2 15 pound shackles I attached them to my inflatable life vest, one on each side near my waist. I would never go out there again without my 30 extra pounds! That old Chief may have been kidding me but the shackles were a great help.

One day while standing watch on the bridge I noticed the Quartermaster laying out the ships course to Spain. He was using a pair of dividers and walking them across the chart laying out our PIM. (Plan of Intended Movement) I was struck then and there as if by lightning. This is what I wanted to do. Navigate.

I approached the Quartermaster who smiled and said- “Oh yeah, well take this copy of Bowditch and when you’re done you can ask for the courses to take the test.” Sounds really simple. But let’s explore the offer.

Bowditch was written by Nathaniel Bowditch in the 1700’s and is comprised of everything known about Navigation since the Egyptians and even includes Navigation in Space. It is also a very math oriented subject. Now I had graduated High School with only a General Diploma due to not having had the required 4th year of math. So I had to set about learning trigonometry and logarithms if I wanted to do this.

I went to the training officer who did all he could to discourage me. I put a request in through the Executive Officer, LtCdr. Martin, who flatly refused me based on my having been busted for grass and also having done 3 days bread and water for an Unauthorized Absence while aboard Neosho. So I took things in my own hands and set about to become a Quartermaster.

In the Armed Forces you can request any courses you want from The Naval Education Training Command in Washington. They send you the study materials and the tests. When the tests are done you mail them in and they grade you. If you pass they send the Notification to your ship and the Captain. This puts him in an awkward position. If he has an opening in that field he must use you or explain to the Commodore why he is going to the extra expense of having someone else assigned and transferred to his ship to do the job when there is already a qualified person aboard. So it was full steam ahead.

This was also around the time that I became known as “Willie”. Everyone in the service gets a nickname. Mine was merely a shortening of my last name. But it was bestowed on me due to my demeanor while on the helm. Casual is the best description. I usually had one hand on the wires overhead and assumed a somewhat slumped posture while steering- as if this was all pretty routine. Like Tugboat Willie.
I passed my course with Excellents and Superiors. I think my lowest score was a High Average. So against their better judgement Cdr Martin and Captain Hawkins were forced to let me become a “striker” for QM3. It was a rank that I would hold and lose several times before my enlistment was over. But my overall responsibilities continued to grow, even when I was demoted.

I loved “star time” which is the time around dawn and again at dusk when you take sightings with a sextant and use the resulting lines of position to correct or at least monitor the error in your electronic gear. This was before Navigation satellites and GPS systems. We had Loran and Omega systems- they were good but were frequently affected by the weather. At times like that we would steam based on a dead reckoning position which theoretically is alright but does not account for the set and drift factors caused by the wind on the surface and the currents below. So it was an art as well as a science.

I became quite good at the sextant as well as the electronics. One time we had steamed 4 days in the Med without a star fix or sunline. We were pretty sure of where we were but needed to prove it. Dennis Laglands and I cranked out the radar to something like 80 miles and picked up a Cape. Consulting the chart we drew a line of postion from that Cape to our assumed Dead Reckoning position and were with in 5 miles! Not bad considering that we had been taking educated guesses at the set and drift of the last several days.

Late in November of 1978 we got word that we would have 2 weeks in the port of Valencia, Spain. This is a city on the East coast of Spain, very cosmoplitan and with several Universities located there. There was a music district with nightclubs and coffee bars. There was hashish available everywhere and we lost no time in making friends with the local college crowd.

We were, as I've said, scheduled for 2 weeks of uninterrupted bliss in this great town for the Christmas and New years holidays. But in the Navy things can change quickly. One night we were out drinking and carousing about when the Shore Patrol came around and ordered everyone back to the ship. It was the 23rd of December and some Admiral wanted us to head out to sea immediatley to re-fuel some ships the next day- Christmas Eve! Having no say in this matter we headed back in drunken groups and in spite of our intoxication we got the Old Milwaukee to sea and made the rendezvous the next afternoon.

We worked until about 11 PM that night, grumbling, as all good sailors do. At about 11:30 PM we heard an announcement on the 1 MC that really shocked us. I don't believe it has ever been repeated on any other ships. "All hands lay to the Mess decks for Holiday Spirits." Captain Hawkins had instructed the Medical Officer to bring all the ships medicinal brandy to the Mess Deck and give everyone a shot. We eagerly complied and when we were done I don't believe that there was any brandy left aboard! What made this so remarkable is the fact that consuming alcohol aboard a Naval vessel is illegal. This could have had bad repurcussions for the Captain. But this was his way of acknowledging our hard work and saying Merry Christmas. I don't think any of us have ever forgotten it.

It was not the first time that the Captain had "bent" the rules. Earlier in the year, about 200 miles off the coast of New Jersey, in the Gulf Stream, we were granted a "swim call." This is so rare that it is easy to find sailors who have been in for 30 years or more who never had the opportunity to swim in the middle of the ocean. We had two 24 foot motor whale boats circling in a designated area around us. They each carried 2 Gunners Mates with M-14's. They were supposed to shoot any sharks that might come around. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that the guns were to shoot anyone that was being attacked by a shark, rather than shooting the shark, which would be almost impossible to do.

I have never been a strong swimmer but I gladly jumped in and it was the most heavenly feeling to have the "motion of the ocean" buffeting you gently in the current. It was also a little scary, knowing that danger did lurk beneath the surface.

Soon we heard the shouts of "Shark!" but it turned out to be a false alarm. It was dolphins that had come to play. Now I don't know about you but at 135 pounds I was not an appropriate playmate for a dolphin. So when one nudged me, gently I might add, he cracked one of my ribs. I was forced to dog paddle back to the side of the ship and painfully made my way up the cargo net that was strung over the side for us to climb aboard. But I have never held it against the dolphin- after all I was playing in his yard!

In January of 1979 we had a Change of Command and Captain Hawkins was replaced by Captain Page. He immediately closed the door on Captain Hawkins “Open Door Policy.” There was some grumbling but not much we could do about it.

Captain Page was an “airdale” meaning he was a jet pilot. He flew A-6’s and had also been a flight instructor. The day he came aboard we got underway and I was on the bridge at the helm. Captain Page entered the bridge and everyone snapped to attention when “Captain is on the Bridge” was called by the Boatswains Mate. When Captain Page glanced over my shoulder for a look at the compass I turned to him and said, “You’ve got a real ‘can do’ ship here sir. With a real ‘can do’ crew.” I think the candid way in which I spoke with him was a bit of a surprise. He looked at me and said he was glad to hear it.

For the next 2 years and more we would steam across the Atlantic and back 4 times, head down to South America, transit the Panama Canal and visit the Mid East several times. We never missed a single commitment. During that time we were awarded several Unit Citations for Excellence in Engineering and also Sea Service Deployment Ribbons for time spent at sea. We were a hard working crew and consequently we played equally hard.

Our port visits were the stuff they make movies about. We bribed ships agents to load hashish in with the fresh vegetables and smuggled whiskey aboard in great quantities. There were also small group of sailors who would comb the pharmacies in search of Valiums.

A typical liberty would see the crew rushing out to the brothels and bars. I usually hit the grocery stores in search of tea and snack foods. This also gave me a chance to mix with the locals. I carried foreign language dictionaries with me and could have some discourse by pointing out words and the translation in the books. Through this I was usually able to find some smoke without resorting to the really sordid places where you might get more than what you were looking for. But sometimes it was necessary to resort to the bars and the hookers in order to find something. These times were always fraught with peril.

One time we were in Barcelona and had been making a deal down a dark side street. We sensed something wrong and when we turned to go we were faced with about 8 guys slowly coming towards us. There were 3 of us. Realizing that we had been set up we took the dealer down very quickly, keeping the drugs and taking a refund of our money plus whatever else he had on him. Then Ron said he would take the 2 on the left- and Dennis would take care of the right side. I would take the package and head straight for the guy in the middle. Kind of like football.

We ended up breaking through the line and were chased all the way back to the Navy Yard. Liberty expired at 2 AM and it was past that time now and the gates were locked! There was some scaffolding in place on the side of the wall and we scampered up to the top - our friends in hot pursuit. The wall was 30 feet high and there was no scaffolding on the other side. It would have to be a straight drop.

Ron jumped first and then Dennis went. He hung off the wall before dropping, this cut the length of fall by 6 feet. Good idea. So I did the same. I landed on the steel rail of the train tracks and shattered my leg. Our pursuers did not enter the yard. They remained at the top of the wall cursing us in Spanish. If they had eneterd and got caught they would have been shot. It was kind of like “Sanctuary.”

I was fined $100 for having broken my leg and my liberty was restricted for about a month. The rule was that when you got back on board you had to be able to stand on your own, face the after end of the ship and salute the flag. You could not lean on anyone or anything. You had to be upright. I tried but the leg would have none of it and I went down.

Following this cruise we proceeded to the Panama Canal and through it to support the situation in Nicaragua. Like I said, if there was something to be done the brass knew to call the Milwaukee. About this time we were known as the "Mighty" Milwaukee.

In January of 1980 we were berthed in Norfolk at Pier 2. We were "cold iron", which means we were connected to shore power. Typically it takes about 12 hours to prepare a ship like Milwaukee to get underway. We were about to set a speed record.

On the night of January 3rd I was out with Ron and Dennis and Kurt Baker. It was the usual driving around in Ron's AMC looking for girls and smoking pot. We were also doing qualudes and drinking. So we were in "high" spirits as we returned to the ship about 11 PM or so. As we headed down the pier to the gangway we heard the Collision Alarm go off and we thought, "Oh man, someones in trouble for doing that!" As we boarded the ship was rammed by a Malaysian Tanker named Sanko prestige. She had lost power to her steering and left the channel heading straight for us. As a matter of fact she would impact the area just below my berth and as she rode further in tore my bunk clean off! All that was left of my rack was the JP-5 pipe that carried fuel to the helo deck which was located right above our sleeping area. You can see my towel still hanging from the pipe in the picture.

Dennis, Ron and I raced to the bridge. We began to energize all electronic gear and synch in all Navigation Systems. We phoned the Engine Room and the watch down there began to get steam up to the boilers. We weren't sure what orders we would receive, but in the event of fire we needed to be ready to pull out to an anchorage. Carrying 7 million gallons of fuel is no laughing matter. An explosion will take out just about everything for a quarter of a mile in all directions.

Captain Page was called from his home in Virginia Beach and made the half hour trip in about 15 minutes. He was more than pleased with our performance that night. We never did have the fire and so didn't have to pull out- but the point is that we were ready.

The result of this collision was a "yard period" across the river in Hampton Roads. We were scheduled for some major work which was completed in about 3 weeks. At that time we were asked to refuel a task Group across the Atlantic in the Azores. This would turn out to be one of the biggest adventures of my time at sea.

We made the Azores and did some work in the Caribbean on the way back to the US. This was now February of 1980. It was a Wednesday and I believe it was the 6th. I had the Dog watch that afternoon, that is the watch that runs through evening chow and you get relieved for about 30 minutes or so by the oncoming 8-12 so that you can get to eat.

Upon returning from chow I noticed that the barometer had dropped another .02 of an inch for the second hour in a row. Something was brewing along the lines of a low pressure system that would bear watching in the coming hours. I informed the officer of the deck, I believe it was Ensign Tyler that evening- he was a portly, pipe smoking fellow who affected an intellectual air that was mostly a façade. He reacted with a derisive “Hmphh.” This was not all that unusual a response to receive from some of the younger officers. They seemed to look down upon the enlisted as an inferior class of people, lacking the money, or brains, or sometimes both- to get into college and become officers. They never understood that there were people who wanted to enlist, in the ranks, and serve there.

So nothing was done except that I informed the deck officer that heavy weather was approaching and a life line on deck would be a good idea. A 500 foot mooring line was secured to the after and forward bulkheads by means of shackles affixed to padeyes which were welded to the respective bulkheads. For some reason no precautions were taken to secure the ship for heavy seas.

I was relieved by QM3 Baker at 1945 for the 20-2400 watch. Star time was not an issue that evening due to the weather. We were running on Omega and Loran with a dead reckoning tracer as a back up. I entered into the Pass Down the Line log that the barometer had fallen for 2 hours in a row and to be aware of any changes in the sea etc. I left the bridge, and as was the custom of the day, smoked a joint before preparing to shower and retire.

By the time I got back to the after house and the Navigation Division berthing space the ship was being tossed and buffeted by huge swells and violent gusts of wind. The helmsman was a deckhand and the ship was not being handled properly. We were taking a lot of punishment that could have been avoided by having a more experienced man at the helm.

By now, objects all over the ship were being loosed by the storm and there was no way to stop the seeming avalanche of food supplies, crates, forklifts etc that had not been tied down. The 7 million gallons of fuel that we carried started to have its’ own inertial effect upon the handling of the vessel, making it even more unstable. The “Mighty Milwaukee” was taking rolls in excess of her design and the ship would shudder as she laboriously struggled to right herself after each successive roll. Standing was now impossible and most of the men were braced in their “racks” with feet and hands braced against the nearest stanchion or bulkhead, feet dug into the rims of the thin sleeping surfaces that served also as covers to the coffin like clothes compartment that lay beneath each. The coffin like similarities of these lockers were not lost on the men at a time like this.

Lockers were toppling and tables and chairs were being literally pitched as the violence of the storm increased. Most of the crew was now motion sick and those that weren’t were unable to do anything but hang on for the wildest ride any of us had ever been on.

Shortly after 2300 (11 PM) the phone rang and someone told me that the bridge was on the phone. I was told that the Captain was ordering me to the bridge. I went, on the double, expecting that I was about to be chewed out for the storm having taken us by surprise. I started across the deck and made it about 50 feet before turning back and using the cargo deck- which although it had the advantage of being enclosed , had the hazard of forklifts,tools and cargo being tossed and thrown about with considerable violence. Added to this was the possibility of falling into one of the open elevator pits. These were large, seven story deep shafts that were sometimes left open. Tonight , unfortunately, was one of these times. The effect of the ship moving about under me not only prevented me from walking a straight line at this point, but it was now carrying me close to these pits and several times I came near to falling in one. They were located on both the port and starboard sides, increasing this likelihood as I struggled forward.

At the end of this journey on the cargo deck I was faced with 4 interior ladders, steeply angled as compared with a normal stairway, but still an improvement over the exterior ladders which were precisely that, ladders welded to the bulkheads. Unknown to me at this time was that many of these ladders had been torn away by the tons of water crashing against the superstructure.

The bridge was a scene of disaster. There were 22 people in there- way too many. Captain Page was braced in a corner, legs apart and arms against the forward portholes, concerned but very much in command. “Well Willie- what do you think we should do?” Captain Page had been a Pilot– flew A-6’s and also was a flight instructor. With a good sense of humor and a relaxed demeanor among the men, he was a well liked captain and a good leader. He had a hard act to follow, coming on the heels of Captain Hawkins, who had come up from enlisted ranks via the NESEP program, which although not that rare, was quite an accomplishment and the men had idolized him as “one of us.” But Captain Page had more than filled his shoes and it was a ”tight” crew.

My first suggestion was to rid the bridge of as many of the puking , moaning men as possible, placing them in the passageways leading to the bridge itself. Everyone had plastic trash bags to puke in and the stench was beginning to become overpowering.

Standing was impossible at this level, we were hanging on to the overhead and the wire banks and piping that line it. Captain Page ordered me to take the helm.

The compass card was swinging wildly, port to starboard and back again over a field of approximately 180 degrees. We were at the mercy of the sea unless we could stabilize ourselves and begin to make some sort of headway. The Captain then ordered me to steer as necessary to make headway and hold course- I was hanging onto the overhead and steering with my feet- literally counteracting the swells by kicking the helm hard left and hard right.

I then received via the Captain , several course changes prompted by the other officers present on the bridge looking for the course that would give us the “best ride”. Captain Page asked my recommendation and I chose West as that would bring us toward our destination of Norfolk but not put us in shallow waters that could hazard the vessel. I was of the opinion that with 65 foot swells breaking over the bridge and winds of 98 knots (107 mph) with gusts greater than that, there was no course that was going to give a good ride. The Captain ordered me to make it so, which I immediately did.

We spent the next 9 hours or so riding through this maelstrom and upon breaking out of it in the morning and later approaching Virginia Beach, we were greeted by the most dazzling sight- over 12” of snow blanketing the Beach and everything beyond! After the violence of the past 10 hours the contrast was extraordinary and we began to open hatchways and portholes to air the ship out. The crew began to come back to life- restowing all the gear that had been thrown about but not washed overboard. The Officers took toll of the structural damage to the ship- ladders gone, boats torn loose, rigging fouled and ruined.

We moored at D and S Piers on the James River and there my memory fades a bit- we were very tired and I imagine that we cleaned ship and had an early knock off that day.

A week later on the 12th of February we were already back out to sea. We were doing an underway replenishment when Captain Page approached me at the helm with an envelope saying “It’s a little bit late- read it later.”

The remainder of the spring and early summer found us everywhere doing everything. We even played cat and mouse with the Russians off Greece for a week or so.Around this time they were testing the limits of our foreign policy to see how far they could go in provoking us at sea. They were also beginning to become a "blue water" Navy, going out of the Baltic and further into the Med and Pacific. We were not permitted to respond to any of their actions and this was a very hard thing to swallow.

In late July we reported to the Brooklyn Navy Yard for repairs and conversions. It was a real thrill to sail up the Narrows and under the Verazzano Bridge. I had watched that bridge being built and when it opened in November of 1964 my brother and I were the first bicycles over it. When the Milwaukee got to the Brooklyn Bridge we had to cut the mast to pass under. Someone had misjudged our draft.

We entered the Navy Yard and moved into barracks across from the Yard. I stayed with my parents for a few days before finally moving in with Mark and Lois. Their house would continue to be a haven for me over the next several years.

By September I was mustering out and it was especially nice to be getting out in my hometown of Brooklyn, New York. Now it was time to put my experience of the last 4 years into action. I was going to get my Seamans Papers and join the Union. I was going to be a Merchant Marine.