WESTPAC: A Sailor's Story

By Joe Brulotte

About the Book
After 47 years of service, the veteran aircraft carrier USS Midway is now permanently moored as a museum in San Diego, California. Just a few yards from the ship stands the Kissing Sailor statue. If he had been a former enlisted Midway sailor, he would have probably kissed a girl in every port.
While countless books tell the stories of high-ranking naval officers, such as Captain John Paul Jones, Admiral David Farragut, and Admiral Chester Nimitz, this book tells the story of the Navy as seen through the eyes of an enlisted sailor who served on the Midway during the Cold War. Armed with a swab and a bucket, he bumbled and stumbled his way on the ship in search of knowledge and adventure on the high seas and lands of the Far East, with the hopes that he wouldn’t fall overboard before he got to the next exciting port.
About the Author
Joe Brulotte served as an Aerographer’s Mate on the USS Midway (CV-41) for two years. He began the study of weather at the age of 15, worked as a weather specialist in the U.S. Navy for eight years, and has continued the study of meteorology and weather over the past fifty years. He holds a degree in science and mathematics, as well as a Master’s Degree in U.S. Military History.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RoseDog Books
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891272088

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The contents of this work, including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed; permission to use previously published materials included; and any advice given or actions advocated are solely the responsibility of the author, who assumes all liability for said work and indemnifies the publisher against any claims stemming from publication of the work.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2024 by Joseph Brulotte

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Through-out history control of the high seas has been the deciding factor in many wars. Of all the weapons used by the military, the warship is by far the most powerful, and the most lethal of all warships is the aircraft carrier. For over 50 years these giant ships have sailed into harm’s way. Airplanes and jets launched from their decks have influenced the history of the world.

     The Western Pacific, known to many sailors as WESTPAC, has been the battle ground for many aircraft carriers. Out of the Western Pacific Ocean, Japanese Admiral Nagumo lead his force of six carriers to victory at Pearl Harbor. In April of the following year, the carrier USS Hornet came within striking range of Japan, and Jimmy Doolittles’s B-25 bombers attacked the Tokyo and Yokosuka areas. The Coral Sea battle followed shortly afterwards, where the Japanese carrier Shoho and the American carrier Lexington were sunk, and the carrier Yorktown badly damaged.

   Six months after Pearl Harbor, WESTPAC saw the greatest carrier battle in history. The Japanese carriers Akagi, Kaga, Hiryu, and Soryu locked horns with the U.S. carriers Enterprise, Hornet, and Yorktown. When the Battle of Midway was over, the USS Yorktown had been sent to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, along with all four Japanese carriers.

  Today’s aircraft carriers, over 1,000 feet long with flight decks covering three acres or more, are monsters compared to the carriers of World War II. Weighing in at 70,000 to 90,000 tons, these angled deck modern carriers have enough firepower to knock out a continent.

     Nearly every young boy has, at one time or another, dreamed of sailing on the high seas, and I was no exception. Throughout my childhood, my ambition was to become a meteorologist and to serve on one of those aircraft carriers. I began my study of weather at the age of 15, along with a hobby of building ship models. I built models of the Missouri, Enterprise, John F. Kennedy, Wasp, Intrepid, and numerous other ships. I also built the ship named after that great carrier battle in World War II, the USS Midway.

     Since I never had any intentions of going to college, until many years later, I set my sights on joining the Navy after finishing high school. I talked to the Navy recruiter in early December, 1976 about joining the Naval Weather Service as an Aerographer’s Mate (AG). Soon afterwards, arrangements were made for me to take an aptitude battery test for the Armed Services, in Burlington, Vermont. This test would determine what fields I excelled in.

     I scored high enough for any rate in the Naval Aviation field, except for Air Controller. These test scores later proved to be completely useless. But for now, it would help me to reach my goal without college, which would suit me just fine.

     On 29 December 1976 at approximately 1700 EST, I enlisted in the United States Navy at the AFEES station in Albany, New York. I was placed in the reserves on Delayed Entry until I graduated from high school, at which time I would commence active duty.

••••••

     I graduated from high school on 14 June 1977, and left home on the morning of 5 July 1977, bound for Great Lakes RTC in Illinois, where I would commence training. After riding, eating, and sleeping on an AMTRAK train from Albany to Chicago, I took one more train ride from the city of Chicago and arrived at the Great Lakes Recruit Training Command, Boot Camp. I began active duty on 6 July 1977.

     My first impression of the Recruit Training Command was one of extreme confusion and fear. We were escorted from the train station to the receiving building by two rough looking, short haired guys in blue uniforms, all the way being called great obscenities.

     Every time one of us said anything without permission, we were yelled at, again using great obscenities. All the while I was thinking to myself, What did I get myself into? I would ask myself that same question repeatedly over the next eight years.

     The next day we had our heads shaved by a barber. An hour later we were issued uniforms, and each of us placed our civilian clothes into a box to be sent home. They had me now, there was no escape. Now all hell broke loose.

I was placed in Company 183, 12th Battalion. The Company Commander, or Drill Instructor, was Boatswains Mate First Class Petty Officer Frank the Crank Washburn. His assistant was Airman Apprentice Cantwell, fresh out of boot camp, and full of piss and vinegar.

     Boot camp is a big shock at the beginning of any enlisted military career. It is a transition from civilian to military life. For some, it may seem easy. For others, it was almost an impossible task. For me, it was a nightmare.

     I am sure that I was not the only one who thought he had gotten himself into a mess of trouble. As a matter of fact, I was not sure I would even live through basic training. It was like entering a prison. The entire base was surrounded by a fence 12 feet high, with barbed wire on top. I remember standing in formation, and watching a bird on the fence. I thought to myself, That bird is free to leave, and I am not.

     The galley food was horrible, and we never seemed to get enough rest. Reveille was at 0400 the first morning after three hours of sleep. The rest of the time we were up by 0500, 0600 on Sundays. Taps were at 2200. The day consisted of running, classwork, physical training, more running, inspections, marching, drilling, and more running. And PUSH-UPS.

     Every time we screwed up, either marching, drilling, or breathing without permission, we had to do push-ups. Sometimes in 90 or 100-degree weather. And because Company 183 was the worst marching company in the Battalion, we were always doing push-ups.

     We had no privacy. Open bay showers, open bay berthing. Even the bathroom stalls had no doors. Our lockers had no doors. It was a show-everything society.

 One of our sister companies ended up in the brig for man-slaughter. They gave the 2nd Squad leader, also known as an Assistant Recruit Chief Petty Officer, Assistant, or ARPOC, a blanket party, and killed him.  One guy in our company flipped out and jumped through a window in the galley. Another guy jumped out of a six-story window at the base hospital, and died.  A third recruit jumped over the base fence, and lay on the railroad track until the train cut him in half. One guy even pretended to be gay, so the Navy would kick him out.

     It seemed to be a mind game for everyone. Somehow, I kept my sanity. We were told at the beginning of boot camp, to just take one day at a time. Don’ worry about tomorrow. So that is exactly what I did.

     We were constantly having drills. Washburn would say When I say DO IT, you will unbutton all buttons, untie all ties, and unfold all folds. Of course, he was talking about the uniforms and gear in our lockers. He would wait a few seconds, then say DO IT. And we would proceed to follow his instructions. Then he would say When I say DO IT, you will have five minutes to button all buttons, tie all ties, and fold all folds. Then he would light up a cigarette, puff on it a few times, then say DO It. And we would once again proceed to follow his instructions.

     This is where I always had trouble. Most of the folding and tying was easy. But the blanket had to be folded into a certain square, with a 45-degree fold on top. The sheets on the racks (bunks in the civilian world) had to have 45-degree angled folds in each corner of the mattress. The raincoats had to be folded into a little rectangle, about 4x8 inches, and tied off with a string in a square knot.

     Well, the sheets on the rack I mastered, half-assed. But as far as the blanket and the raincoat, I could not get the hang of it. So, one of my fellow boot campers showed me how to fold them. After that, I never unfolded them.

     Washburn would go through his spiel, suck on his cigarette, then give the command, DO IT. I would shove the folded blanket under the rack, and sit on the folded raincoat. Then I would unfold and refold everything else. When I was finished folding everything, I would pull out the already folded blanket, and get off the already unfolded raincoat. I did this until half way through boot camp, until I finally mastered the folding.

     Throughout July 1977, the temperature remained around 90 to 110 degrees Fahrenheit. We could only march or have PT (physical training) in the morning. In the afternoon we would all write letters home. In August, it rained nearly every day. But by then I had finally mastered the folding of the raincoat, so I wasn’t afraid to unfold it.

   All this drilling and marching was to stress teamwork. At sea, in peace or war, the ship cannot function without teamwork. Everyone must do his share. There is no room for free-loaders on board a warship.  

     Throughout boot camp and continuing with my time on an aircraft carrier, I was the Gomer Pile of the U.S. Navy. I was constantly getting my tail chewed out by my superiors. I recall a Lieutenant asking me where I was from. When I replied Vermont, Sir! his response was You came all the way from Vermont just to piss me off. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that.

     My fellow boot campers nicknamed me Gear Adrift because I was never where I was supposed to be, never in the right place. In fact, the entire crew of Company 183 was the Black Sheep of the 12th Battalion. We could not march worth beans. We were all over the place, stepping on everyone’s boots. We were never marching in the same direction. Instead, we were running around like a bunch of blind mice. In fact, we didn’t even qualify to march in our graduation ceremony until the day before graduation.

     The companies of the 12th Battalion would compete against each other for flags. We got a flag for sports, but that was the only flag we got. We couldn’t get a flag for marching. We couldn’t even get a flag for neatness. However, we did get nominated for the Quebec Flag, a big white flag with a yellow Q on it.

     The Quebec Flag was considered the SCREW UP FLAG. As a matter of fact when we had our company picture taken we had one flag. Our Company Flag. We had lost our Sports Flag to one of our sister companies earlier. We had to borrow flags from Company 184 so we would have something in the picture. The only other company with less flags than Co. 183 was Co. 187. They were still in the brig, awaiting court martial for manslaughter.

     I was always in the rear of our marching formation of 84 men. I was placed in the rear because I inherited my father’s method of walking. I bobbed up and down like a piston when I walked. When we would march my head would pop up above everyone else then sink back down. It was not a pretty sight. So, when we finally qualified to march in the graduation ceremony, I volunteered to stand the Forward Compartment Watch in the barracks during the ceremony. I got the job. The graduation ceremony went on without me. I stood the Forward Compartment Watch, sitting in Washburn’s office, reading, and listening to his radio.

     All in all, boot camp was hell.  I graduated from boot camp on 2 September 1977, a half squared away sailor. I was never able to get an A-school. An A-school is basically a rating specialty school. If you wanted a certain rate, you went to the school for that rate. After graduating from A-school, the rate you learned was the rate you would be in until you were discharged from the Navy, whether you were in for 4 years or 30 years.

     I did not get an A-school for the rate I wanted, Aerographer’s Mate. Instead, I was sent to the ATD, or Apprentice Training Division, on the other side of the base. I was to receive two weeks of training in the Aviation field.

Airman Recruit High School, as I had once heard it referred to as, was a break from boot camp. One day we would have classwork and the next day a test. My instructor was a First-Class Aviation Boatswains Mate who had only a few months to go before retiring after 20 years in the Navy. I do not recall his name, but he was a friendly guy.

     We were taught the basic knowledge that every Airdale should know. An Airdale was a nickname for anyone in the Aviation field. The schooling was okay. The tests were easy, and we had liberty every other night, with weekends off. I ran around with a guy named Jim Horn. He had been in Company 183 with me.

     During boot camp Jim and I were designated as Seaman Recruits. Upon graduation from boot camp and placed in the Aviation field, we were redesignated as Airman Recruits. One step in the right direction. Jim and I would spend most of our liberty in a MacDonalds restaurant, a couple of miles from the base. After two months of eating Navy food, MacDonalds was fine cuisine.

   On base, we would sneak candy bars back to the barracks. It was illegal and if we were caught, we were in trouble, and stood a good chance of being ASMOED. I never knew exactly what ASMO stood for, but it meant that we would be sent back in training. During boot camp I had met a couple of guys who had been ASMOED repeatedly and had been at the RTC for nine months, instead of the original two months.

     I was ASMOED once. During my second week of boot camp, I was moved to a holding company for being an NQS, Non-Qualified Swimmer, meaning I could swim like a rock. Before I enlisted in the Navy, I told my recruiter that I could not swim. He told me not to worry. They would teach me. However, when I relayed this message to the instructor at boot camp, he just threw me into the pool. Hence, my entry into a holding company.