A far cry from my first night attached to Coast Guard Station Alameda. Back then the Coast Guard maintained 2 Basic training facilities, the other one, now the only one in Cape May New Jersey. The memory of that first morning being awoken to the sound of garbage can lids being smashed together, still makes me shudder. Have not seen a metal garbage can in a while, now that I think of it. My thoughts then, were 'oh no what have I got myself into.'
I was soon to find out as we were tortured sufficiently enough that we were more than eager to compete for the lauded triumph of Honor Company. Honor Company status meant that the Company with the highest point totals for the week, ( Physical training academic scores inspection results etc).... received special privileges. Most notably, the duty of policing the other companies, during chow. That is, recruits were required to stand in line for chow "nuts to butts.", they made it abundantly clear. Skylarking was prohibited. Eyes must be kept looking straight ahead to the back of the recruit in front. Violators were required to polish a giant brass cleat, mounted in front of the chow hall, and consequently ate last.
Other privileges made life a little easier, so I was determined to do whatever it took to achieve Honor Company status. I soon discovered that the academic standards were of a level that I could work with. The material we were required to study and get tested on, was fairly straight forward. The questions on the test were selected directly from that material, and I did fairly well, as long as I read all the material, for whichever subject. So what I did was create a practice test for the other recruits in my company. I went over the material and created questions that previous tests seem to expect. After my compatriots completed the practice test, I would correct them, and thru that process we were able to achieve high academic scores that eventually led us to Honor Company. Especially my scores, since the process of creating a practice test left me fully familiar with the material.
I experienced quite a bit of humiliation, when I neglected to polish the back of my belt buckle, which when discovered, I experienced punishment. I had to high port my belt over my head and down and out from my chest and run around the compound while yelling “ I am a filthy scumbag” for several hours. We also had to dissemble our bunks in the wee hours and then transport the parts outside in the yard and reassemble them. Then of course vice versa. We had a wonderful time doing that. Then during personal inspection we were required to salute simultaneously when the inspecting officer faced us. I was so nervous I saluted too soon and then to make matters worse uttered “ OH Shit” “WHAT DID YOU SAY SCUMBAG” I repeated "Oh shit sir." That cost me about 100 push-ups I was never really ever able to complete. Then of course we were vaccinated for Yellow fever and various other diseases. The lymph nodes under our armpits swole up, and was very painful. The cure for that was to do more push ups on the hot pavement, and then assume the dyeing cockroach position, replete with sound effects
I knew I wanted duty aboard an icebreaker, because of the travel. Exotic foreign ports-o-call, and tropical diving, and the girls, more about that later. Well since I enlisted in Seattle, where I did the bulk of my growing up, the Polar Class brand new icebreakers; Polar Star and Polar Sea were very conspicuous, down on the waterfront with there shiny fire engine red hulls. It would be ideal if I could be stationed aboard either one, and be in familiar turf when in port. Well the hierarchy surrounding the procedure to acquire a desirable duty station worked by giving the top graduate 1st choice of the available billets, and then number 2 selected their choice from the remaining' and so on. Of the 60 or so seaman apprentices in my company, I was 11th. Not out of the question that one of the Polars would be available when it was my turn to choose, but my back-up plan was LORAN Station Saipan. This was in the pre-GPS days when Long Range Aids to Navigation stations were manned and maintained by Coast Guard personnel. I had heard the natives still ran around topless, and being nineteen and recently DE-virginized, by one of those run-away housewives that preyed on young men, (Though I didn't really feel too much the victim) Saipan would not be a bad second choice.
My heart sank when the Polars were snatched up right away, but I barely noticed a third Icebreaker on the list. USCGC Glacier, a dinosaur of the ice-breaking fleet, I came to find, but at least I would be participating in Operation Deep Freeze even if the Glacier was relegated to scientific ops and back-up to the Polar Star which was assigned the main break in duties. The Glacier had a storied history. Entered in the Guinness Book of World Records for discovering the biggest iceberg (at the time) and also for the most trips to Antarctica by any one vessel. I would be on the 21st. The famous Admiral Byrd even sailed on her maiden voyage, I didn't find out till many years later.
I arrived at Long Beach Navel Base right in the middle of the gas crises. I remember this because I borrowed a shipmates van on the condition that I fill it up with gas. Well after waiting about 3 hours in line at the gas station, 3 cars ahead of me were turned away because they ran out. Trust me, my shipmate was not hearing any of that, I reneged and that was that. My consolation prize there was one big party goin on in that gas line. The Glacier stuck out like a sore thumb among the battleship grey Navy vessels, so it was not hard to find, and my initiation was suffering the loss of the brand new 35 mm canon camera I had just bought for the trip. I reported the theft,and lo and behold a couple weeks later someone had found it stashed in the overhead, and the XO returned it to me, much to my surprised relief.
I started off as a mess cook in the officer.s wardroom. Yes that means wearing a white tunic serving the officers with polished silver serving trays, and guess who had to polish that silver. Not to mention all the brass that polishing became the busy job of choice, when they ran out of real work. One day I was instructed by an officer to retrieve the "good" cuts of meat, that he had not been getting. So when I entered the galley I went right to the source, and let it be known my displeasure about being admonished by an officer, for not providing satisfactory cuts of meat. Next thing I know I got some giant of cook chasing me out of the galley with a butcher knife. An offense that would have brought considerable consequences onshore and in the civilian world. My offense was trespassing on the cooks territory, he said the officers will take what HE gives them. The first lieutenant explained to me that the cook was not used to being given orders by a Seaman apprentice, and that I should be more diplomatic when requesting supplies for the wardroom.
I suffered through that for a couple of months, before I was attached to the deck force proper, and began standing helm, lookout and messenger watches. The day work consisted of splicing line, fancywork for the railings, chaffing gear, and scraping rust, painting with the wonderfully healthy paints appropriately named red lead and blue death. Those whites and that silver were looking better and better.
In the great seafaring tradition, I came to learn that sailing over the equator is a right of passage, with the initiation rites and the uncomfortable circumstances that goes with those rites, a "pollywog" can pass to a full fledged "Shellback" with the privileges that include torturing the next set of pollywogs that come their way.
To be continued......
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