From July of 1973 to April of 1981, I served proudly in the United States Navy. I went to bootcamp at Naval Training Center, Orlando, Florida, and then to Radioman “A” school in Bainbridge, Maryland. From there, they sent me to a supersecret school in Northwest, Virginia.
My first real tour of duty was at the Naval Communications Center, Wahiawa, Hawaii. I was 18 years old when I was sent there, and I was typical of all 18 year olds – dumb as a box, but completely unaware of that fact.
When I arrived in Hawaii, I was assigned to the Special Communications division, and my assigned area of duty was in an area known locally as ‘the dinosaur cage’. This was because the building was surrounded by two circles of antennas, very very tall, and it looked quite like what a cage that held dinosaurs would look.
The area where I worked was actually underneath the building, in a very large room packed full of electronic gear and flourescent lighting, with no windows. You could not tell if it was daylight or dark, cold or warm . We worked long shifts, and it was often dark when you got to work, and dark when you left.
I married my first wife Cheryl on March 30, 1974, not particularly because I loved her, but because I thought I should get married, and she was the only girl that would have said yes. I knew I was gay, but thought by marrying, I could change into what the rest of the world and my family thought that I should be. I was too young to really think for myself.
I was sent to Hawaii, arriving in April of 1974, and because low ranking enlisted personnel were not entitled to transport or housing of their dependents, my wife stayed with relatives. It was January of 1975 before my grandmother took pity on us, and bought a plane ticket so that Cheryl could join me in Hawaii.
Cheryl immediately became pregnant, and our son Christopher was born prematurely on August, 17th at Tripler Army Medical Center. The hospital was a huge, pink, imposing structure in the hills of central Oahu, overlooking Pearl Harbor.
Amazingly, I don’t recall a lot of details about my four years in Hawaii. I was young, we were nearly always broke, and struggling just to eat. For awhile, we lived in a roach infested dingy little apartment building on Walker Avenue, in Wahiawa. Another sailor took pity on us and sold me a car for $500, which was two months pay. It was a one bedroom place on the 3rd floor, where more often than not Cheryl and I would split a can of beans for dinner, and Christopher would be diapered in a kitchen dish towel because that was all we had.
I was promoted to Petty Officer 3rd Class, and became eligible for navy housing. We were moved to an apartment complex located in Waipahu, Hawaii, on Waipahu Street. It also was painted pink, which I think is the predominant color for buildings in Hawaii.
My work schedule was what was known in the navy as a “2-2-2-80”. I worked 2 day shifts, followed by 2 evening shifts, followed by 2 midnight shifts. I then got 80 hours off. I usually spent the first 24 hours of my 80 hours sleeping. Christopher was a colicky baby, and sleep was often something that we only thought about.
In early 1977, Cheryl and I were not getting along at all, and she decided not to return from a visit to her parents, who were living at the time in Guymon, Oklahoma. I decided to re-enlist in the Navy, having been promoted to Petty Officer 2nd Class, so I left Hawaii in August of 1977, the day Elvis died, bound for San Diego, California, where I would spend six months in teletype repair school
We had purchased a new Datsun 210B car, my first new one, and I had it shipped to San Diego. My Aunt Marion lived in Palmdale at the time, and on weekends I would drive from San Diego to Los Angeles, where I would meet her and Uncle Wayne or some other friends, and we’d then head on up to Palmdale.
I replaced the Datsun with a 1977 Ford Mustang II hatchback, because I learned that driving up and down the I-5 in California in a car that had a top speed of 71 mile-per-hour was about as near suicide as you could get.
After training school in San Diego, I was assigned to the U.S.S. Edenton, ATS-1, based in Little Creek, Virginia. I was a bit scared. I was “middle management” for an enlisted person, being an E-5, Radioman 2nd Class, but had never before been on a ship.
Cheryl and I had gotten back together, and we rented a small apartment just out of gate 4 of the Little Creek amphibious base in Virginia. My sister was nearby, dating another sailor, who she eventually married.
The USS Edenton was on ocean going salvage and rescue ship with a crew of 102 when fully manned. From 1978 to 1981, we rotated to the Mediterranean where we served as part of the sixth fleet four times. I enjoyed each of the trips, although it meant being separated from my family. Truthfully, my wife and I weren’t getting along well at all, so the distance probably prolonged the marriage far longer than it would have lasted.
When we weren’t overseas, we were serving in the Atlantic area off the east coast of the U.S. by towing targets for destroyers to shoot at, or picking up airplanes whose pilots had decided to go swimming.
I’ve been watching a series on PBS called “Carrier”, and it reminds me of just how much I loved my time in the Navy, and how much I truly enjoyed my time on the Edenton.
Some people just aren’t cut out for serving aboard a Navy ship. You spend months at a time seeing nothing but “miles and miles of blue”, trusting each and every one of your shipmates that everything they do is designed to keep you safe and sound and secure.
I doubt that I would be where I am today if I had stayed in the Navy. I have no clue where I would be. I’ve done well for myself, mostly by accident, and I often wonder where I would be had I taken another path.