Tuesday January 11, 2005 – Traveling Companions

Tuesday January 11, 2005 – Traveling Companions

When we set sail, August 2nd, 1965, I was in a state of euphoria. I was going to sea; I was going to have an adventure. My shipmates besides Art and Tim, were a chief petty officer, the ranking enlisted man onboard—we called him chief. He was a bear of a man with thinning blond hair, a broad face and a mustache that covered a hair lip. He was married with a young daughter. He wrote to them both daily, a real family guy torn between the Navy and home. Another chief petty officer, the ship’s medical officer we called Doc was a tall handsome man, with a goatee that made him resemble Pan, the god of woods and fields, of flocks and shepherds. Like Pan, he had a way with the ladies, besides his wife. I remember him having long legs that would have served well for dancing or running, though I couldn’t imaging Doc doing either. Doc was a good timing sailor that would never settle down to the dismay and heartbreak of his wife.

Three others, each with a petty officer first class rank, Gus, Red and Bud, who reported to Chief, were in charge of telling the rest of us what to do. They were watch leaders, one each on call in case there were problems. Gus was a navy veteran with a sad face that easily broke into a lazy smile when amused. Divorced and in his thirty’s, he stood just under six feet tall with a slight slouch. He had thinning brown hair, a slight beer belly, lips that curved downward and sleepy eyes. Red, just over five feet six inches—my height—was a thin-as-a-rail, short thirty-year old with a southern accent, a freckled face, and carrot red hair and green eyes. He had the mischievous face of a leprechaun and always had a funny one-liner to dispense. His wife and kids, too, were on a Navy base somewhere in the states. Bud was a career Navy bachelor, a plump Edwardian character—spreading midsection, chubby red face, graying brown hair, and the freckled complexion of a man who has lived hard. A couple of inches taller than me, he was big framed and short-legged.

Another married shipmate with family in the states was a tall petty officer second class, called Hank. He had the build of a football player that had gone soft. He had the disposition of a easy going bear, hard to rouse to anger and far more inclined to negotiate rather than confront a crisis. He had a high forehead, a cherub-like face with high cheekbones. The ship also had a photographer on board, a petty officer second class, called Jake. He was a thin and wiry thirty something, with a buzz cut, hard eyes, and a long thin face, with slightly hooked nose. He, too, had a family stateside. He was the opposite of Hank, more easily roused to anger and a distinct sense of what was right and wrong. A third petty officer second class, Sam, had a build similar to Hank, slight beer belly, too. He was in his late twenties, with had a wife in the states but no kids: Black hair, brown eyes, and a large face with a prominent Roman nose.

Among my peers— besides my roommate Art, there was Ernie, Manny, Ken, Cue—our pool shark, Grey Eagle, and Roger. Bespectacled Ernie had the handsome, boyish look of a high-school quarterback. Just under six feet tall, blond hair with a slightly receding hairline that looks attractive on a young face, blue eyes and a mouth that seemed to smile even when it was a rest. Manny was a dark-haired, light-skinned Puerto Rican, who had grown up in Queens and had no accent. He was about my height but with more athletic build, broad shoulders and an upper body of someone who can do a hundred pushups without breaking a sweat. These two shared a room. Ken and Cue, I had known before joining the Michelson crew. We had attended school in Virginia and Long Island.

Ken was from Minnesota. He was a inch or so shorter than me, but big framed with large hands. When you looked at him, you first noticed his overbite that gave his speech a slight almost imperceptible lisp. He had a broad face, blue eyes and a full head of blond hair. He loved to crack jokes and had a lack of social grace. He shared a room with Cue who was from Nebraska, a dark-haired fellow that stood five feet ten, with a medium build, the first signs of a beer belly—he loved drinking beer as much as playing pool. He had a slightly receding hairline, a good-looking face with brown eyes and dark brown hair. Cue was impetuous—he married during the last week we were in school on Long Island. The marriage, such as it was, was doomed from the start.

Dark haired, handsome faced with dark obsidian eyes and black hair, Grey Eagle stood over six-foot tall, with a lean athletic build. He was extremely introverted and had the quiet demeanor of a man with a big chip on his shoulder. There was a tension that surrounded him continuously, though when he spoke his voice was soft and you had to strain to make out what he said sometimes. Roger was what today would be called a nerd. He was a few inches shorter than Grey Eagle, with a mustache, short cropped hair that required no grooming, a look of concentration seemed to always pervade his broad face. Roger related far better to the machines on board ship than he did with his shipmates, though he could be drawn into conversations during meals. Roger’s machine was the ship’s NAVDAC computer, a much older machine than we had learned during our training course in Virginia. It was understood that no one was to touch the NAVDAC other than Roger, who took it as a measure of pride that it was never down for any length of time. Grey Eagle and Roger were roommates.

These would be my companions on my journey of adventure.