Birds and Air Rats and Four Legged Pests

By:  Garland Davis

Many of the world’s birds are beautiful in their plumage or graceful flight.  Many hobbyists, more commonly known as “birders” spend countless hours in field and forest attempting to sight and photograph the lovely creatures.  John James Audubon devoted his life to cataloging and sketching America’s plethora of birds.

One of the more fascinating, birds is the Pacific Golden Plover.  In Hawaii, the bird is known as the Kolea.  They are a migratory bird whose breeding habitat is the Arctic Tundra from northernmost Asia into western Alaska.  It nests on the ground in dry open areas.  The Kolea winters in Hawaii, Japan and other temperate and tropical areas.  When in Hawaii the birds remain solitary and guard a territory from other birds and Kolea.  They return to the same territory each year throughout their life.

Another fascinating bird is the red-headed Hawaiian Cardinal.  This is really an import from Brazil brought in by the early planters.  A pretty bird.

Most of the native birds of Hawaii were driven to extinction by the predators imported by the early sugar planters.  The sugar planters imported mongoose to control the rats and mice in the sugar fields.  They didn’t think it through.  Rats and mice are nocturnal and feed at night and sleep in the day while the mongoose are just the opposite.  The two never met.  The mongoose devastated the populations of native ground nesting birds by eating the eggs and chicks

Many birds are domestic pests.  I know that every one of you who has departed San Francisco or other west coast ports remembers the cloud of seagulls following the ship.  The further the ship moved from the coast the fewer birds were following.  The old hands held on until the twelve-mile limit (probably have to wait for the fifty-mile limit in our newer, “more friendly to the environment Navy,” was reached.  As the first mess cook with a garbage can exits the superstructure and headed toward the fantail the cloud of birds reacts with pandemonium and fly crazily around the sky yelling in Bird, “Hurry up and dump it, asshole.”  After the shitcan smorgasbord, they leave the ship and head to the nearest landfill dessert bar.  This is their normal hangout until they spot an outbound ship.

Honolulu is over populated by pigeons.  This is the result of people, mostly tourists, feeding the disgusting creatures.  Pigeons are the most amazingly panicky and dopey creatures.  They live a pretty simple lifestyle.  The rules are not hard to understand, even for a pigeon:

(1) Walk up to anyone sitting and eating and move aimlessly back and forth begging for a crumb.

(2) Continue walking around pecking at cigarette butts, gum wrappers, pebbles, and other inappropriate items.

(3) Take fright when someone walks nearby and fly off to a girder or street light.

(4) Take a shit.

(5) Repeat.

Another flying creature impossible to avoid in Honolulu are the Mynah birds.  The advantage they have over pigeons and seagulls is they are fun to watch.  I don’t understand why there are so many of them.  Throw them some food and if there are two or more of them, they fight over the food.  While they are busy disputing ownership of the food, the sparrows, the red-headed cardinals, and the red assed bulbuls steal the food.  You would think Mynah birds would starve to death.  When they do eat, there is an established pecking order.  They will encircle a morsel and peck in order.  If one pecks out of turn, all the others jump on him and kick his ass.  Meanwhile, the sparrows again make off with the largesse.

A warning, Do Not Feed Pigeons or Mynah birds.  Thousands of them will show up every day for meals.  They will nest in your attic and eaves and will shit all over you PV panels, your lanai furniture, your lanai, sidewalks, drive, and especially your car. There is something about a car that brings on diarrhea in most birds.  The cloud of birds will ensure that you become a favorite with all your neighbors.

But the most irritating bird in the Hawaiian Islands is the “Yard Buzzard,” the feral chicken.  Almost every neighborhood has at least a rooster.  The mother fucker begins crowing at approximately 0300 and crows continuously until at least 2100.  One would think that with the large Filipino population with their love of Chicken Adobo we wouldn’t have as much of a problem.  The do-gooders feed the feral cats and since they are well fed they refuse to hunt chickens.  The wild mongooses (the plural is mongooses) do as much as they can to control the chickens but are overwhelmed.  It would take a division of Colonel Sanders employees armed with deep fryers and original recipe breading to make a dent in the feral chicken population

The damn cats are a pain also.  They think I maintain my flower beds as comfort areas for their convenience. The city came up with a brilliant idea to control them.  They trap them, neuter the Tom cats and then release them.  Just not as many guy cats vying for the available female cats.  I know because there is an area right under my bedroom window where female cats hang out and the Tom cats come to get laid.

Things are not always as they seem in paradise.  When you are visiting the islands, do me a favor:  Don’t feed the effen’ pigeons. Or the cats.

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.  To see a menu of previously published articles, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

Sailors in Japan barred from drinking alcohol, leaving base

By:  Erik Slavin

Stars and Stripes:  June 5, 2016

YOKOSUKA NAVAL BASE, Japan — Sailors in Japan are barred until further notice from non-essential, off-base activities and banned from drinking alcohol, Navy officials announced Monday following a recent spate of high-profile arrests of servicemembers and civilians.

The order covers all ranks and bans both on- and off-base alcohol consumption, according to a joint announcement from 7th Fleet and Commander Naval Forces Japan.

“These measures are not taken lightly,” said Rear Adm. Matthew Carter, CNFJ. “For decades, we have enjoyed a strong relationship with the people of Japan. It is imperative that each sailor understand how our actions affect that relationship, and the U.S.-Japan alliance as a whole.”

Sailors living off-base can commute to work and engage in “essential activities,” such as grocery shopping, gym use, child care and gasoline pickup, according to a Navy statement.

Sailors must clear other off-base activities through their chain of command, officials said Monday.

The order is the most wide-ranging restriction in several years for sailors in Japan, where the Navy has periodically ordered alcohol bans and curfews for all ranks, but particularly for younger, enlisted sailors.

Military officials said privately Monday that misconduct is taking up considerable time among senior leaders, stealing focus from the region’s myriad security challenges.

The restrictions covering off-base liberty will remain active until unit commanders, executive officers and enlisted leaders conduct face-to-face training with all personnel.

The alcohol ban will remain until the Navy is “comfortable that all personnel understand the impact” of irresponsible behavior “on the U.S.-Japan alliance and the United States’ ability to provide security and stability in the Indo-Asia-Pacific,” according to a Navy statement.

The Navy Exchange at Yokosuka has stopped selling alcoholic beverages in support of the order, according to signs posted at base stores. The effects of the curfew also were evident Monday night in the Honch, a drinking district right outside the base that is popular with Navy personnel. Bars and restaurants normally filled with American customers were mostly deserted, aside from small groups of civilians affiliated with the base.

The order includes sailors stationed in Japan and those arriving on temporary duty.

“The overwhelming majority of our sailors are doing an outstanding job every single day,” said Vice Adm. Joseph Aucoin, 7th Fleet commander, according to a statement released Monday. “But that same majority — at every pay grade — is also responsible for providing leadership on all levels.

“We will not condone misconduct that impacts our ability to conduct our mission or which jeopardizes our critical alliance with Japan.”

The order does not apply to civilians, contractors, family members and personnel from other services stationed at Navy bases; however, Navy officials have requested that they take the order into account.

“The behavior of all Americans in under the microscope right now,” CNFJ spokesman Cmdr. Ron Flanders said.

Sailors already receive information on proper conduct at orientation briefings when they first arrive in Japan. The additional training will reinforce that, but will include a frank assessment of conduct over the past month and how it is affects U.S. security plans in the region, Navy officials said.

The military on Okinawa declared a period of mourning last month after police there found the body of Rina Shimabukuro, 20, in a forest.

Kenneth Franklin Gadson, a civilian base contractor and former U.S. Marine who goes by his wife’s last name of Shinzato, is suspected by police of dumping the body and is soon expected to face other formal charges.

The incident increased longstanding protests over the U.S. military’s presence in Okinawa, where about half of all servicemembers in Japan are based.

Last month, President Barack Obama set aside economic issues on the sidelines of the G7 summit in Japan to discuss Shinzato’s arrest and express his regret to Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, who called on the U.S. to do more to prevent such incidents.

On Saturday night, Petty Officer 2nd Class Aimee Mejia, 21, was arrested after driving the wrong way down an Okinawa highway and crashing into two other vehicles, according to police.

A Breathalyzer test revealed a blood-alcohol level of 0.18, six times the legal limit in Japan, despite a week-old ban on off-base drinking, police said.

On Monday, Okinawa police recommended a charge of “dangerous driving resulting in injuries” to prosecutors. If charged, Mejia would face a maximum sentence of 15 years in prison under Japanese law.

The new restrictions on sailors are not a response to any one particular incident, but to a negative trend of behavior in the force, officials said Monday.

Besides the incident involving Mejia, sailors reported “belligerent behavior” off-base involving other sailors under the influence of alcohol in Yokosuka during the past weekend, Navy officials added.

Commentary by Jim Barton Capt, USN (Ret)

I think in general this is symptomatic of a trend which has been going on in the US Navy for the last three decades.
In the 1980s, there was a zero tolerance policy made by the 6th Fleet Commander in the Mediterranean based on for increasing reportable incidents ashore by sailors. Many of these involved alcohol. The “liberty risk” policy was put in place where sailors could be kept aboard ships if commanding officers viewed them to be potentially risky. Liberty was said to be a privilege and not a right. That policy soon became the norm everywhere.
But the simultaneous integration of changes into the Navy of certain societal “norms” tended to exacerbate problems ashore.
Alcohol and drug rehabilitation programs were put in place and eventually when these did not work, the Navy turned to increasingly harsh restrictions overseas and at home as the Navy’s reach to the present where it extends now far past the quarterdeck where breath analyzers are used to how sailors should behave at home.
In Japan, the status of sailors was covered by the Status of Forces Agreement which has come into sharp focus since Japanese dissatisfaction with the 1995 USG treatment of an alleged rape perpetrator. In the most recent example, the President allowed himself to be lectured to publicly by the Japanese minister for another alleged case.
In an attempt to mollify the Japanese not only have overly restrictive policies such as these in the article been put in place but the U.S. has shown a willingness to allow sailors to be prosecuted under less than the most severe of crimes under Japanese law. Both approaches are wrong and will not work.
In my opinion, it is a matter of education and leadership. As long as we have the type of politically correct leadership we saw in the 1980s and beyond in the Mediterranean and today in the Far East and elsewhere, these problems will continue to occur by the few.
In reality, these incidents while disagreeable, are rare and do not reflect the actions of the majority. Punishment and restrictions toward all just harbors resentment and reduces spirit de corps and morale. It is a pitiful example of the navy leadership and civilian meddling. More of our leadership should take a stand and not allow itself to be driven by politically directed edicts from Washington.
What is happening is that we are attempting to curtail access and put in place edicts which in essence are unenforceable and applying standards which are completely unenforceable back home in the United States among civilians.
I think it bears testimony to how poorly the US Navy is led these days. these pitiful attempts are essentially a return to the actions of Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels. It did not work then and it does not work now.

The author is a retired career US Navy Surface Warfare Officer whose assignments at sea include duty in all Line Departments in the Destroyer and Auxiliary Forces up to and including command of a Frigate. Ashore he served in key national policy positions on the staff of the Chief of Naval Operations.

The Night I Nearly Got My Clock Cleaned

By:  Pat Dingle

I’ll bet most felt like I did that first year in patrol, working with seasoned officers who always seemed to know just what to say or do with those we encountered in the streets and homes of North Las Vegas during the sixties and seventies. For me, a young officer of 21 years of age at that time, nothing had a more confidence building effect like working with guys the first time out like Tom Fay, Dick Warrilow, Ray McGuffee and the cop’s cop, Bob Smith. With partners or back-up like these men, there was nothing we couldn’t do or accomplish. I’ll give you an example of that “can do” confidence in this story and you’ll see just how naive young coppers can be.

During the summer months on swing shift, we’d often have one two man car to take the hot calls like bar fights, burglaries in progress, robberies, or any felony in progress etc. on Friday and Saturday nights. We would also do normal patrol duties but we wouldn’t be dispatched to a report taking call. We were the heavies at those times and couldn’t be bothered by piddling police work. It felt pretty good.

It was on such a night that I was partnered up with Bob Smith. We hit the streets after the 4 PM briefing and toured the city, waiting for “the call” or to come across a JDLR situation ( just don’t look right ). As I recall it was around 8 PM or so when Ray McGuffee radioed he was making a DUI stop at the Shell gas station, Las Vegas blvd. North & Civic Center. Shortly Ray called for a tow truck and a cab. Bob and I looked at each other, knowing that was very unusual, Ray never cut anyone slack when it came to DUI. We were already heading up the Blvd so we decided to drive by and see who Ray had stopped, this had to be good for him to call for a cab. As we drove pass, we saw Ray standing in the parking lot of the gas station with a very big black man, about fifty feet away from a truck and Ray’s patrol car. That was enough for us to make a U-turn and go back up Ray.

Parking behind Ray’s unit in the street, we walked up to them as Ray was saying to the man, “Sir, I’ve called a cab for you, you can’t drive, wait a minute and your ride will be here”. Sir? ride? what’s going on? The big black man was older than us, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties and in really good shape. I looked at his hands hanging at his side, I’ve never seen hands that wide before and his knuckles were the size of walnuts. He was swaying slightly back and forth and didn’t seem the least bit concerned that three cops were standing between him and his truck. All he kept saying was “I wants my truck” and then take a step towards it. That’s when Bob Smith thought enough of this BS and told the guy ” You heard what the officer said. If you go for your truck again, you’re going to jail”. The man thought a minute then said “I wants my truck” and took a step forward. Bob pushed him back by one hand on his chest, I took hold of the sap in my back pocket, ready to go, thinking he’s really big but what the hell, there’s three of us, and Ray pleaded “Sir, your cab will be right here, don’t”. It was a tense moment, here was a very big man, not taller than us (me) but much wider, heavier and he looked stronger than any one of us. His arms looked like tree trunks ( ironwood trees ) But, so what? there were three of us and only one of him. It’s now up to him, his call. He said “I wants my truck” and took a step towards it. Bob said you’re under arrest and the all out fray…….didn’t happen. At the words “you’re under arrest”, the man just stopped and dropped his hands to his side.

Just then, Bob and I heard the dispatcher calling us with a report of a bar fight at Al’s Liquors so we hurried to cuff this guy, grabbing his arms, and get on our way, only it couldn’t be done. The man was so big, his arms wouldn’t bend back far enough and he was too wide to get a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. We had to use my cuffs and Ray’s, hooked together, in order to cuff this guy, then try to stuff him in the backseat of Ray’s unit. It was finally done with much effort huffing and puffing. We rushed off to the fun of a bar fight at Al’s Liquors which of course was over by the time we got there and none of the multitude of intoxicated hard-hats seen nothing and the bartender just rolled his eyes at us “never when you need them” cops and continued to wipe the bar counter, wondering why the fuck he was working in a joint like this.

Bob and I resumed patrol, wondering aloud if we’re going to have any excitement tonight. After a while, we started talking about Ray and the weird stop he made, why did he call a cab? why didn’t he just bust the guy and be done with it? We couldn’t figure out this puzzle so we decided to stop by the station and ask Ray, he would still be there writing his report. As we walked in the squad room, Ray was sitting there at the long table writing. He looked up at us and yelled “What are you guys trying to do? get us killed? Bob and I looked at each other, now more baffled than ever, saying what the hell are you talking about? Ray, pissed off big time, said “do you know who that was?” we shrugged our shoulders, no. Ray, now more pissed and standing, shouts “That’s SONNY LISTON”…. no shit?, says we. Then we rushed to the drunk tank, opened the small metal window and there he was, Sonny Liston, passed out on the padded floor, fully dressed, including his lace up boots. Seems nobody wanted to enforce the jail rules about no street clothes in the drunk tank this time.

Soon everyone on the shift, all five or six of us, was in the station taking a look through the small door of the drunk tank at Sonny Liston, this was cool. We all knew about the time in Denver a few years prior when Liston beat up a bunch of cops, maybe ten of them, breaking one’s leg, and here he was, the Heavy Weight Champion of the World ( former, but we played that part down that night ) in the North Town jail, arrested by three unscathed North Town cops. That’s right, we bad, we tough,….. we lucky, he would have cleaned our clock if he wanted to or had just reacted to his life of fighting in the ring and streets. We kept going back and taking another look, just to made sure he was out cold. We collectively, Sgt. too, decided that it would be best if we just let the Heavy Weight Champ of The Entire World sleep it off and then the day shift could try to take his boots away if they wanted to. We’ll take our win and not push it. This was neat stuff, don’t fuck it up now.

Bob and I went back out on patrol that night, to crunch crime, with me thinking we coulda taken Sonny Liston and Bob Smith looking at me like a father looks at a dumb son you’re stuck with, both of us wondering if we’re going to have any excitement during the rest of the shift. McGuffee held a grudge until he was cleared for code 7. The other officers arrested several more drunks that night, who were placed in felony cells instead of the drunk tank. We all agreed that was probably a smart move. We all took a last look at Sonny Liston at the end of the shift, still sleeping on the floor of the drunk tank, as did all the cops coming on the graveyard shift. I might  have told a few fellow rookies on grave some trash talk about how I took Sonny down, but I don’t really remember now. I never saw Sonny Liston again but I remember he told the press during a court appearance a few months later, that the night in question was the best he had ever been treated anywhere by the police and he thanked us publicly for the kindly, gentle way in which we did our sworn duty. Yes Sir, we were gentlemen to the core on that occasion, Mr. Liston said so. Sonny died a few years later of a heroin overdose. I know where he was copping the dope and from whom, in the 1300 block of west Helen, over on the west-side, but that’s a North Town Police story for another time.

The Seventh Fleet Effect

By:  Garland Davis

Yesterday I explored and opined about our legacy of the Viet Nam war.  My shipmate Jack Thomas postulated a legacy that I hadn’t considered.  His comment was that we sailors had supported thousands of Asian women while pulling liberty in Asian ports.  Not to mention, how many small businesses, bars, taxi and jeepney drivers, and cathouses did we keep out of the red. I often wonder what happened to the bar owners, the bartenders, waitresses, the hostesses, and the jeepney drivers when the fleet sailed away. But most of all, I wonder what happened to the children who depended on the sailors’ money for food.

This brings to mind an incident that happened to me in Olongapo.  I don’t remember the ship, probably one of the FF’s I served in.  I stopped in a bar in Olongapo for a beer on my way to the Barrio.  This became one of those nights that I never made it to the Irish Rose.  I fell in love (or at least my dick got hard) with a lovely young thing in that bar.  After a few beers for me, as many ladies drinks as she could con me out of (quite a few, my dick was ordering, I was paying), a few dances and some bargaining, I paid the bar fine and we set out for her place.  On the way, she asked if I would pay her some of the money I promised so she could stop and buy some food. I gave her some P’s and she went into a store and bought a loaf of bread and some other items.

We arrived at her place, a two room apartment. She went into the other room and came out with two adorable half-blood children, a pretty girl of about six and a younger boy.  The mother told me she wanted to feed them since they hadn’t had any food since the day before.  She made them jelly sandwiches and sent them back into their room. The thought of those kids not eating was heart wrenching.

When on liberty, I always wore denim jeans or denim shorts.  Both my jeans and shorts had secret pockets where I usually carried two or three one hundred dollar bills in case I ran into an emergency while on liberty.  I considered giving the girl one of those bills to help feed those two kids.  But if I gave her a large American bill, when she went to change it into Pesos, someone would take it from her or cheat her out of it. After leaving her the next morning, I went to the money changer, changed the bill, went back to her house and gave her the Pesos.

I never saw her or those children again.  I have wondered many times if my gesture made their life better for a time or did she just blow the money and end up back in the same predicament again.  I guess it is best I don’t know, but one cannot help but wonder.

Then there was a young lady I met in Manilla, who often met my ship in Olongapo.  All she ever asked of me was to pay her college tuition for the semester.  I don’t know that she was actually attending college although she was carrying college texts when I first met her. This went on for a couple of years and then she told me she had met a young man and intended to marry.  I wished her luck and gave her a wedding present.  When thought of her crosses my mind, I often wonder what became of her and what she accomplished in her life.

How much of the economy of Olongapo, Pattaya Beach, the more verdant cities of Hong Kong and Singapore, and the wellbeing of many of their occupants was dependent upon the presence of the Seventh Fleet and the sailors’ dollars?  Did the fleet contribute positively to the countries we visited or did we create and prolong the bars and the debauchery of the sex industry in those nations?

Deep thoughts, but I wouldn’t change a bit of my time in the Far East.  Well, maybe a few more days in port and more early liberty.

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.  To see a menu of previously published articles, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

Viet Nam Legacy

By:  Garland Davis

I was just reading an article in this month’s VFW magazine about a Vietnam War Legacy program at Texas Tech University.  It was rather cryptic about the legacy of the war and concentrated on those who designed and staff the program.

I have thought a lot about our legacy from that war.  My first question is, “Why were we there?”  Was it to stop the subjugation of the corrupt South Vietnamese government and the South Vietnamese people by the communist North Vietnamese?  Or was it to hold the line and prevent the fall of other Indo-China nations if the south fell?  One prominent politician designated this the “Domino Effect” and presented a credible argument that if the South fell, Cambodia, Laos, Burma, and Thailand would fall under communist domination.  When the South eventually fell in 1975, it seems the North Vietnamese had satisfied their mission to reunite Vietnam.  Both Cambodia and Laos were involved in civil wars of a sort and the Communist Vietnamese, after thirty-five years of war had no desire to prolong the fighting.  The Soviet Union and China were both experiencing economic and internal strife at the time.

The first reaction of most people is that the United States “lost” the war.  Is that our legacy, losers?  North Vietnamese General Giap stated in his memoirs that the North was defeated and on the verge of sueing for peace when the American media took up the call that America had lost the war.  After the Tet Offensive in January 1968, Walter Cronkite declared on the six-o’clock news that, “The United States is losing and has no chance of winning the war in Viet Nam.”  In the end, the Tet offensive was a military disaster for the North, but the American media made it a political victory for them in the West.” It is now conventional wisdom among American intellectuals of both Left and Right that the Vietnamese communist forces suffered a tremendous blow in that military effort, but the spectacle of such an all-out effort obliterated domestic support for the war in the United States.

So we didn’t lose the war, we surrendered to negative public opinion fomented by the media.  So, is our legacy the military after fighting and on the verge of victory are deserted by the politicians as they listened to the anti-war protestors and media, ignoring the Generals and Admirals.

Is another legacy to be the first American war directed, not by trained military officers, but by politicians, meeting at night, in the oval office, to pick the next day’s air targets in Hanoi and other Northern cities.  These targets were chosen for political reasons that, all too often, had no bearing on the military value of the target.  The North Vietnamese Generals learned that if they placed anti-aircraft batteries and Surface to Air Missile sites adjacent to schools and hospitals, they would not be bombed out of fear of war atrocity implications.  How many planes and pilots did this strategy cost the U.S.

What is the individual legacy of the war?  Thousands of American youth were conscripted into the Army.  Many thousands more volunteered for the Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps ahead of the dreaded letter from Selective Service.  And many American youth, at the behest of anti-war organization,s were urged to flee the United States to Canada and Sweden where they were given sanctuary.  Others, already serving, were urged to desert.  I am sad to say that I have a relative, who took the oath, completed basic training and then deserted.  He hid in the hills of North Carolina, with the aid of his father, a highly decorated veteran of the North Africa and Italy campaigns of WWII.  Eventually, all was forgiven when, in 1974, President Gerald Ford issued a proclamation offering amnesty to those who evaded the draft or deserted their duty while serving.  What is their legacy?

Is the legacy of those of us who chose to honor our commitment and oath to the country, who either served successfully and continued to serve, served and returned home after our initial tour of duty, were maimed or wounded and recovered or ended up in VA hospitals and care facilities, or died as a result of illness, combat, or accident, that of a pariah?  Many of us who returned home, found no welcome.

At the ends of WWI, WWII, and the Korean conflict, soldiers and sailors were welcomed home with parades and speeches.  Much was made of them, they were treated with respect and as heroes.  Those of my generation, returning from Viet Nam were welcomed with beakers of pig’s blood or red ink thrown across our uniforms to signify us as murderers and baby killers.   We were spat upon and assaulted.  Even some family members wanted nothing to do with us.  You will find us in the American Legions, VFW halls, Elks Clubs and Fleet Reserve Clubs.  We relate to and understand each other.

Suddenly with the War on Terror, we were re-discovered.  Americans of today say, “Oh, the Viet Nam veterans were mistreated and never welcomed home.  The young people are quick to say, “Welcome Home” and “Thank You for Your Service.”  But, I have noticed that many people of an age to have served during the Viet Nam War are not so forthcoming with comments of appreciation.  Ashamed or do they still believe the propaganda of the media of those days.

Many of the men who served in-country, learned to dull the pain and hide the miserable conditions with drugs, primarily marijuana.  Much of the “Marijuana” available in Nam was laced with opium to give it a bigger kick.  Many of them came home as unknowing opium addicts.  Is being recognized as dopers our legacy.

Now another group of us are ill with many afflictions attributed to the U.S. use of a defoliant called Agent Orange.  Cancers, lung diseases, blood diseases, neurological conditions and birth defects in offspring are identified as probably caused by Agent Orange.  Is it our legacy to suffer and many die while fighting the beauracracy for assistance from the country that we served honorably?  Or is our legacy to become casualties of the Viet Nam War without a wall listing our names.

I have managed to confuse the hell out of myself writing this.  I set out to delineate and list our legacies of the Viet Nam War. I cannot define a single legacy.  The war itself is our legacy, from the General or Admiral in his air conditioned office to the lonely private burning the shit in the latrines or the mess cook scrubbing pots and pans in the ships galley.

We know who we are, where we served, and what we contributed.  We did our duty.  I can live with that as my legacy of Viet Nam.

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.  To see a menu of previously published articles, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

The Honch

By: Garland Davis

Joe had liberty, but he was broke.  The fifty-one dollars a Seaman pulled in twice a month didn’t go far on the Honcho.  There was enough for a steak dinner at the Club Alliance, a couple cases of beer and a fifth of rum checked into three different bars, a couple of short times, a few drinks for Junko, a carton of smokes, some soap and toothpaste and then he would be broke until the eagle flew again.  Fifty-one bucks would get a sailor through the first week of steaming the Honch and then it was back to staying aboard and drinking coffee until payday.  He just didn’t seem to be able to stretch his money between paydays.  He just couldn’t say no when Junko grabbed him by the crank and said, “Joe, Honey-chan, you buy me drink?”  If he could make Third Class, this time, he would have more money for liberty.

Joe decided to walk over to the base theater and catch the movie.  He had a buck in loose change.  That would pay for the ticket, popcorn, and a coke. The ship was at a new pier, having come out of the dry dock yesterday.  It was the only ship in Yokosuka at the moment.  He wondered why they were at the far end of the pier.  It wasn’t like anyone was using the berths closer to everything.

As he neared the head of the pier, he noticed a small leather rectangle laying across the crane tracks.  He walked past and then turned back to see what it was.  Bending over and picking it up, Joe discovered a small leather folder like some of the guys kept their ID cards in.  He figured someone had lost their ID.  Probably someone from his ship.  He opened it to see who it belonged to.  Instead of a green ID with a picture of the owner behind the clear window, there was a picture of Benjamin Franklin. No! Not a picture, a hundred-dollar bill!  He slipped it out and unfolded it.  There were three one hundred dollar bills!  He quickly searched through the wallet for any indication of to whom it belonged.  The only contents were the three bills.

Three hundred bucks!  Man, a sailor could finance a number of liberty days with that kind of money.  He could set up cases and bottles in five or six bars and afford to buy Junko drinks.  Maybe he could get an overnight and go to Yokohama and spend all night with a girl instead of just wham-bam short times.  Screw the movie.  Joe started back to the ship to shift from undress to dress canvas and hit the beach.  It was barely six o’clock and liberty expired at midnight.

Walking toward the gangway, he formulated his plans for liberty.  Hit up the slush fund for some MPC tonight and change the green into Military Payment Certificates tomorrow. Then go straight to the bar and drink Sapporo’s until about ten and then hit the skivvy house to get laid.  That would leave time for a couple more beers and back through the gate at midnight.

He borrowed twenty from BM3 and went to get ready for a night on the town. As Joe was unfolding his Dress Blue jumper he was struck by a feeling of guilt about spending the money on liberty.  Three hundred bucks was a lot of money.  It really didn’t belong to him.  This was the only ship at the pier. Surely someone from the ship had dropped it.  He decided to take it to the quarterdeck and turn it over to the OOD.  The person it belonged to probably really needed it.

But then he thought about cold beer and getting laid….and came to his senses as he tied his neckerchief.

To follow Tales of an Asia Sailor and get e-mail notifications of new posts, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above, then click on the follow button.  To see a menu of previously published articles, click on the three white lines in the red rectangle above.

A native of North Carolina, Garland Davis has lived in Hawaii since 1987. He always had a penchant for writing but did not seriously pursue it until recently. He is a graduate of Hawaii Pacific University, where he majored in Business Management. Garland is a thirty-year Navy retiree and service-connected Disabled Veteran.

­­A Fine Mess You Got Us Into This Time, Albert
by CAPT John Wallace (USN retired)

In summer of 1964, a team of specialists and I embarked aboard a nuclear-powered submarine and set sail on a classified mission. Broad guidance for execution of the mission was to transit to the operating area, execute the mission, and return undetected by either friendly or hostile forces.

The modern attack nuclear submarine is particularly well-suited for such a task. It has an exceptionally sensitive sonar system which allows it to detect, and usually, classify, noises in the water at great distances. This capability, coupled with highly sensitive electronic systems which alert it to radar signals, allows the submarine to avoid, or investigate, targets long before the submarine comes within range to be detected by the target.  Our platform for this particular mission was unique to the US Navy, not only the longest at 402 feet but the only submarine ever built with two nuclear reactors and originally classified as SSNR (Nuclear attack Submarine Reconnaissance).

The transit to station was routine, with periodic excursions to periscope depth for radio traffic or to investigate contacts. The approach to the mission area was conducted at a speed and depth to maintain the mission’s covert status. The long transit time offered an opportunity for the ship’s crew to conduct training and emergency drills. My team also used this time, to check and recheck equipment and to review details of the upcoming operation.

Once in the operating area, all contacts were considered hostile and evasive tactics were used. However, as contacts became more numerous, evasion often consisted of remaining quiet and deep while hostile units passed over us.

One evening, as we were attempting to maneuver our way clear of a concentration of hostile surface contacts, we found ourselves boxed in, with no clear course to steer to vacate the area. Using the “quiet and deep” tactic appropriate in such situations, we anticipated our slow speed would gradually carry us beyond the problem area or that the surface ships would eventually move on. The great thing about nuke submarines, I remember thinking, is that they can stay down forever.

That’s when the lights went out.

When a ship loses its electrical load, battery powered battle lanterns automatically click on in all the compartments and the ship’s intercom shifts to battery backup. In the dim light of a solitary lantern, I could barely make out the rest of my team as we all froze in place, waiting for some indication of the seriousness of the problem. The unmistakable voice of the Commanding Officer erupted over the intercom, “Will someone tell me what the hell’s going on?”

The chilling response from the engine room: “Captain, we’ve just scrammed both reactors.” This announcement was accompanied by a wailing siren in the background — a sound whose memory gives me visceral twinges 50 years later.

A reactor scram is, simply put, the automatic shutdown of the nuclear reactor and complete loss of primary power to the submarine. (I don’t know if “scram” is an acronym; but if it is, it probably stands for “Stop Chain Reaction, Avoid Meltdown!”) A brief layman’s explanation of this process might be useful. A nuclear reactor is a furnace, fueled by radioactive material. The heat from the reactor turns water into steam, which makes the screws turn and the electricity flow. The intensity of the reactor’s output is controlled by graphite rods whose retraction from the reactor core allows more nuclear reactions and more heat, and whose lowering into the reactor has the opposite effect. A scram occurs when sensors recognize a problem in the system that is so severe, the rods are automatically dropped into the core, shutting down the reactor.

When the cause of the scram has been identified and corrected, the reactor is brought back on line by slowly withdrawing the rods. If circumstances dictate (e.g., consequences of lost propulsion may be worse than the risk of bringing the reactor on line without first isolating the cause of the scram), a fast scram recovery can be initiated.

As forward momentum is lost, depth control is lost. Like an airplane, a sub must either have lift across its control surfaces to control its rise or fall or by strategic use of its ballast tanks. Without depth control, a sub either pops to the surface (broaches) or sinks.

Getting back to our story, while broaching might seem a preferable alternative to sinking, our situation made that less attractive. To broach in the midst of hostile units, without power or propulsion, would not be a fun thing. Had we not been ballasted heavy, we would have broached no matter how opposed we were to that option. Instead, we slowly sank, stern down, at about a 15-degree angle.

Meanwhile, fast scram recovery procedures and attempts to start the Electrical Propulsion Motor (EPM) were initiated. Unfortunately, the EPM, an emergency backup motor, refused to start. And we continued to sink. As the boat went down, the tension level in the boat went up.

Fast scram recovery was successful; but before we could muster a collective sigh of relief as the reactor was brought back on line, the wailing of sirens again pierced the dim interior of the boat…a second reactor scram. And we continued to sink. I recall thinking at the time that Einstein’s calculations must somehow be flawed and we were going to be the unfortunate guys to prove it. (“Look at this equation again…Albert forgot to carry the 1…”). The consequences of an uncontrolled descent can be disastrous — USS Thresher and USS Scorpion were both lost in peacetime accidents when loss of depth control plunged them to crush depth.

Our situation was serious, but by bubbling air into the ballast tanks we were able to slow our descent considerably and not alert hostile units above. Through this maneuver, we finally reached a depth equilibrium and hung suspended well above the danger point. The surface units gave no indication that they were aware of our presence and gradually moved their center of activity away from us. After an eternity, the engine room announced (unaccompanied by sirens), “Captain, making turns most reliable on Reactor number One.”  But stomachs and jaws didn’t unclench until lighting was restored and we began our withdrawal from the area.

We went on to complete our mission successfully and had an uneventful return to port.

I came away with my confidence in nuclear power shaken, but with a renewed respect for the skilled submariners who willingly drop through that deck hatch day after day and year after year and go in harm’s way.

Entered the Naval Air Reserve out of high school in 1955, serving with VF-782 as an AT striker at Los Alamitos NAS, CA.
After graduation from college attended OCS and was commissioned in March 1961. His duty assignments included USS Polk County (LST 1084)as Deck and Gunnery Officer; Navy Language School in Anacostia, MD, studying the Russian language; ACNSG Fort Meade, MD. as a submarine rider; NSGA Bremerhaven, Germany as Communications Officer; Vietnam as OIC of Special Support Group to MACV SOG; NSG HQ in Washington, DC; Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, CA; NCS Rota, Spain as Operations Officer; NSG HQ; ACNSG at Fort Meade; CINCUSNAVEUR London, UK as Deputy DNSGEur; NSGA Puerto Rico as Commanding Officer; NSA Fort Meade; NCPAC Hawaii as Deputy NCPAC.
Retired in January 1989 and remains in Hawaii.