Sea Stories: Definitely Not Fairy Tales

By Henri Duffy

Everyone knows the old adage of military life, hours and hours of unadulterated boredom sandwiched between seconds of sheer terror. But not everyone knows of the more humorous side of military life as described in the nautical expression "Sea Stories". The stories in this collection show another side of military life. Sailors find a way to get around obstacles, deal with the seemingly impossible, and get some satisfaction out of life; although not always by the most conventional route. This collection of stories follows a fictitious junior officer on a hilarious journey from ensign to lieutenant commander on three ships, a little liberty, and with a great deal of help from his fellow officers, chiefs, and sailors. As every sailor knows there are two types of stories; fairy tales that begin with "Once upon a time..", and sea stories that begin much differently. These are sea stories, definitely not fairy tales.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Henri Duffy
• Release date: Jun 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370373550

Henri Duffy

Henri Duffy has led a very active professional life. He spent 20 years in the military as an active duty and reserve naval officer; and another 20 in higher education as a faculty member, dean, vice-president, and president. He has also led a Chamber of Commerce and served as a senior manager in state government.Currently he lives in the northwest near the ocean with his wife, cat, and dog. He sees the ocean every day and chases fish when the weather is nice and occasionally catches one or two.As you can see, he isn't much for having his picture published.

Book preview

Every sailor knows there are two types of stories; fairy tales and sea stories. Fairy tales start with, Once upon a time; sea stories start with This is a no shitter.

So, did the actions described in this collection really happen? I can neither confirm nor deny the truth of any of these stories. Some might sound familiar to a few readers. That wouldn’t surprise me since Fireman Raveneau and Seaman Schmuckatelli have crewed every ship since the first sail was set.

We all know about sea bats, the mail buoy, hand rail cooling water, and left handed fuse pullers. But some of what happens to us during a naval career can be astounding and of course, in retrospect, actually funny. What is written here is based to some extent on facts—at least according to some people-- but, as with every sea story, embellished and polished with age and every retelling. Now they can best be described as fiction; who knows what actually happened to inspire some of these stories? All names have been changed to protect everyone (guilty and innocent) and the situations have been fictionalized. All ports, home and liberty, have been fictionalized as well.

Throughout the book I have used a single ship name for the one that the stories center on—USS Halligan. I did this for two reasons, first, things are fictionalized, and second, the Halligan is not currently a commissioned ship. She was a destroyer in World War II that struck a mine and was sunk off Iwo Jima. My uncle served and died aboard her. Any other ship is referred to as the USS Berwick. Again, there is no current U.S. Navy ship named Berwick, but Star Trek aficionados will recognize the name. One British ship in this collection is also noted as HMS Berwick, while there was a World War II cruiser so named, Her Majesty’s fleet does not have a HMS Berwick currently on the active rolls.

For those of you who may not have served, there is some navy specific terminology used other than the ubiquitous cursing. I have tried to explain the more technical things either as a part of the story or somewhere else in the book.

For those of you who have served onboard naval vessels I have tried to recreate the feel of a ship; the noise, the camaraderie, sometimes even the smell. Writing these down evoked some wonderful memories for me, I hope that they might do that same for you. I also hope they’ll remind you of your shipmates (nautical associates if you were an officer) and all that they meant to you.

Throughout these stories I try to ensure that our current politically correct environment has not intruded too much into what goes on onboard a ship. But this is not always possible, so some parts of this have been cleaned up. I would also expect that some readers will not understand what shipboard life is really like, so in some cases, I have provided more description of basic things that those who’ve been on ships take for granted.

Life in the military is very different than life as a civilian. Those who serve in any of the armed forces often put their lives in danger as part of their duty and we should never forget that it is very serious business. But there are also other parts of military life that, although much less dangerous, are no less extraordinary and can only be related through the introduction, This is no shit.

Part One—Officer Candidate School

Dumpster diving

The end of the two-week period of indoctrination had finally arrived. Now, after being torn down through formalized hazing, it was time for the navy to begin to build them anew. A new life was dawning for these officer candidates; a new routine, new modes of behavior, standing watches, following new and different rules that would eventually become new habits. This is how it starts for new officer candidates at Office Candidate School known by its initials, like so many things in the navy, as OCS.

It was a late mid-January afternoon in Newport, Rhode Island. Soon the sun would be setting and a gentle quiet darkness would fall about the Newport Naval Station. Inside King Hall were officer candidates learning their new trades, those that had been there for ten weeks were taking those that had been there for two weeks and showing them the ropes. Tonight was the first watch ever stood by David Jones.

Come on Jones, we have yard patrol tonight. We got places to be, things to do, and you get to do them. We need to be downstairs in 20 minutes. We’ll be doing this for four hours, so hit the head before you go downstairs, all we have to do is walk around the naval base more particularly the OCS compound. This is how will you learn to stand watches. This one isn’t a big one, but it’s something we have to do. Officer Candidate Wilkerson half shouted down the passageway; Jones had learned there were no halls in the navy. Wilkerson was taking Officer Candidate Jones on Jones’ first training watch.

Wilkerson, a tall black man with impeccable manners and literally no accent of any kind was a contrasting partner for Jones. Wilkerson came from a well-to-do family who had actually fought him about joining the Navy and becoming an officer after graduating college with a degree in mechanical engineering. His family could not understand why he would pass up early lucrative job offers to become an Ensign. What they really couldn’t understand is why with an engineering degree he did not even want to become a nuclear qualified officer. For his part, Wilkerson just wanted to do something different; he wanted to do something on his own in a large organization that supposedly based promotion on merit. This is what it was all about for Wilkerson.

Jones, on the other hand, came from a large working-class Irish-American family from New England. He scraped by through college working two or three part-time jobs during the school year washing dishes and multiple full-time jobs during the summer. He earned decent grades with a degree in the humanities. His manners were fair, his vocabulary well above what was needed, although that vocabulary was somewhat scarred by that mill-town working class background. He was more about trying to get a job, make a living, and have a little bit of security so he could figure out what he wanted to do with life.

I’m coming Mr. Wilkerson, said Jones, still caught up in the formality of those with more experience than him. For Jones, everyone was mister, sir, or ma’am and ensigns were a qualified standby for God. While Wilkerson was already in uniform Jones was still trying to straighten his gig line; that odd formation of the shirt seam, the zipper of the pants, and the belt buckle all coming together in a straight line. Being a perpetual slob, this was one of those new habits that Jones was going to have trouble developing. After the gig line it was tying the tie, another new skill that Jones would eventually perfect, but not while at OCS.

A few minutes later Jones was hustling down the passageway-- civilians would call it a hallway as Jones still did in his mind-- trying to keep up with Wilkerson’s long strides. The two went down the ladder-- stairs just a couple of weeks ago-- and met the pair that they were relieving.

Binderman and Anderson were officer candidates from other companies who handed over the watch belts, the flashlights, and gave Wilkerson and Jones a brief of what had occurred during their four hours. Nothing. Wilkerson and Jones put on the watch belts-- nothing more than white web belts; the belt soldiers wore in World War II-- took the flashlights and started their rounds.

It being just about four in the afternoon the sun was more than low on the horizon, it was already setting. A couple of days earlier, Newport had been blessed with a light coating of snow which had been compacted by hordes of tired officer candidate feet into a slick coating of ice. Since they were standing their watch and making their rounds in standard issue Navy black leather oxfords, the footing was treacherous at best. As the sun continued to sink it became more difficult to see and walking became even more of an adventure.

It took about one hour to complete the set of rounds. They started at the side door of King Hall. All officer candidates would later learn that nearly every United States naval installation had one building named King Hall named after Admiral Ernest King, Chief of Naval operations, or CNO, during World War II. In beginning their rounds they walked around King Hall. Upon returning to their starting point they walked down a short path lightly glazed with invisible ice to Ney Hall. Ney Hall was the dining hall. Wilkerson and Jones would also soon learn that Ney was the name of some supply officer who the Navy named the prize for the best dining hall in the fleet after. As officer candidates they realized that the food was better than college dining halls, but not on par with mom’s cooking. They navigated around the dining hall coming out on to a narrow paved footpath that took them down to the shore of Narragansett Bay. Here they took a moment on their first round to look out over the water and admire the sunset. It was January in Rhode Island and it was just below freezing, not cold enough to freeze the inside of your nostrils but still on the wrong side of invigorating, and for one of the few times that winter, there was no real wind. As a result not only was it a pretty sunset, it was even moderately comfortable as the two gazed at the Freedom Bridge. The bridge was the way to freedom off the island after commissioning, an event much closer for Wilkerson than Jones.

As they walked down the road along the shoreline behind Cheney Hall which housed the Naval Academy Preparatory School they chatted about where they came from, their colleges, and just general stuff.

I just felt that it was necessary for me to get away from family, from where I came from, to go somewhere where I would be on my own, forced to do things I am not accustomed to, and to get to know people who are very, very different from me. It seemed to me that joining the Navy and coming to Rhode Island for training in the winter would be about as different as different could get for me; I’ve only been out of Alabama once. It was easy to see that Wilkerson was learning on a daily basis. His feet were slipping and sliding as he never appeared to have played hockey.

So it looks like winter may not be one of your more pleasant experiences? asked Jones. Doesn’t look like you’ve done a whole bunch of ice-skating. Well, while you may think you’re walkin’ it looks more like you’re just tryin’ not to fall down. Don’t sweat it. I grew up a little bit north of here and it takes a little while but you get used to the cold and walkin’ on ice. Make sure you put your entire foot down instead of walkin’ heel-toe like you would on dry pavement. You’ll get the hang of walkin’ like a penguin soon enough. Probably just in time to get orders to Florida. We’re lucky; so far it hasn’t been too bad a winter.

Are you serious? Not too bad a winter. I feel like we should be part of the Winter Olympics here not out for an evening stroll. Since it had gotten dark Jones couldn’t see Wilkerson’s face, if he could he would have seen a young man ready to go anywhere warm even though it was only slightly below freezing and well above zero.

Yeah, this isn’t wicked bad. Let’s just keep moving, we seem to be slowing down. We’ll keep warmer if we keep moving. I know you’ve been here longer than me, I know you know what you’re doing, but when it comes to cold trust me we just need to keep moving. Let’s not go crazy and break a sweat, just keep moving and this thing will get done faster. encouraged Jones.

They walked, past the preparatory school, past the gymnasium, and further down an empty block to a small bridge about a mile from King Hall. They turned left and went about 200 yards and then took another left at the pool. Now they were away from the shoreline walking through buildings with plenty of streetlights to light the way, although the footing didn’t improve. As they continued heading back toward King Hall they stopped and checked on various things: Was the pool’s door locked? Were all the lights out at the dental clinic? Were there any cars in the Navy exchange parking lot? Any lights on in the classroom building? They walked around each of those areas and continued down the road back toward King Hall in front of the bachelor officers’ quarters for those newly minted ensigns who were gods to officer candidates and then over toward baby SWOS, Surface Warfare Officers School, the school most of them would attend nearly immediately after commissioning. Officer candidate school would bring them new habits, surface warfare officers’ school would teach them new skills or so the Navy hoped.

Okay, we need to walk through the parking lot between the BOQ and SWOS and make sure no one is trying to break into the cars. Then we go behind SWOS, go back behind King Hall, come out between King Hall and SWOS, then go around the front of King Hall back to where we started and we make the rounds again. said Wilkerson.

That sounds good said Jones, not a bad walk, the weather isn’t that bad and we’re just about on time. Is there anything we missed on the first round?

Ya, we were supposed to go behind Ney Hall and checked the back doors. We didn’t do that on the first round. We’ll have to make sure to do it this time. It really isn’t a big deal they were still dealing with dinner when we went by the first time and I noticed people coming in and out the back door, but they’ll be done now so we’ll have to check and make sure it’s locked said Wilkerson.

Okay. You know I hope our whole career isn’t like this; walking about in the dark checking locked doors. It seems we’re being over paid for what we’re doin’. I’d like to think that we’ll actually have to think sometime. You know my brother was a machinist mate on diesel powered subs when he was in the navy. He said to me that the best officers were the ones who used their heads, used a bit of imagination, knew the book, but weren’t ruled by it. I went through college majoring in the humanities. I may not have the skills in math, the sciences, or engineering that many of the other guys here have, but I did learn how to think.

Sounds like you have calculus envy, Jones Wilkerson chuckled.

Not really. I know and understand I don’t have some of the skills some of the other guys have, but I know I’ve learned how to think and that may be as important later as some of the sciences are for some of the things we’re doing now. What did you major in in college?

As they walked around the front of King Hall and started going to the other side to where the rounds began a little over an hour ago, Wilkerson smiled before he responded to Jones. Well I actually majored in mechanical engineering. Took more math than I ever want to take again and learned many things that I’ll probably never use again. From what little I’ve seen I’d be surprised if I get assigned to engineering on a ship; that would make too much sense. You have to wonder, we’re working for the government and it’s the old gag about a guy joining the Army when the recruiter asks him you like camping and the poor slob says ‘Yeah I love camping’ so they make him an infantryman even though he may speak fluent Russian. So when we finish, and I believe we’re both going to finish, for all I know I’m gonna become a communications guy and I know nothing about electronics.

They both pondered their conversation as they walked around the side of King Hall, along the walkway to the front of the sand colored bricks of Ney Hall where they checked the front door, which was locked as it should be, and then circled around the side of the building. Jones went to check the back door and they both heard an odd sound coming from somewhere around the dumpster. Jones was at the door casting about with his flashlight looking for the source of the ruckus. Wilkerson was going up the short latter that ended right at the lip of the dumpster. The ladder and the landing at the top both had a bit of ice on it and Wilkerson in his hurry to get to the top slipped and fell into the dumpster with a great clatter and crash and more than a few curse words.

Wilkerson what the fuck did you do? Jones asked in a hoarse half whisper. When Wilkerson did not answer immediately Jones called again, louder, Hey man, are you all right?

As Jones headed up the ladder to see if Wilkerson was okay, two things happened in the darkness that made him stop short. The first was a groan from inside the dumpster followed by a shuffling. Jones figured Wilkerson was okay. But the flashlight coming on from the other side of the dumpster took the non-dumpster confined office candidate by surprise.

What are you clowns doing? asked a grumpy lieutenant coming around the side of the dumpster. ‘Oh shit’, thought Jones, ‘a lieutenant. He’s senior, he’s experienced and we’re officer candidates. We’re screwed.’

We’re the roving yard watch from Officer Candidate School responded Jones adding hastily Sir.

What’s with all the noise? What are you doing?

"Well sir, I was checking the back door as I’m supposed to and when my