A
COASTIE…AND PROUD OF IT!
Dave L. Moyer
A postscript to the Owasco Chronicles……….
It was 0945, 23
April 1969 and the Owasco was making her way up the Thames River. Fifteen minutes later at precisely 1000
hours the first line was made fast, the whistle blew and the colors
shifted. After precisely eleven months,
three days and one hour, the Owasco was home.
The Academy Band was waiting on the pier. Speeches were made by Adm. Arthur Engel, superintendent of the
Coast Guard Academy, retired Commandant Adm. Roland and the Mayor of New
London, Connecticut. In spite of the
rousing welcome by these dignitaries and the citizens of New London, most of us
with leave had but one thought…… home.
I returned one week later to pick up my seabag,
say my farewells and pick up my transfer orders. As I was walking down the pier I heard someone call my name from
the quarterdeck. It was my operations
officer, Lt. Nicolai. I returned to the
gangway and saluted. My salute was
returned and the Ops sort of growled at me.
“You’re not going to say goodbye?”
I wasn’t aware he was aboard and felt embarrassed. I had the privilege of serving with two of
the finest sea-going operations officers during my stint in the Guard. Frank Nicolai was the first. We exchanged farewells; I saluted one final
time and was on my way.
My orders were to report to Group Cape May as a
member of the commissioning crew for the last of the 210 Medium Endurance
Cutters built. I was looking forward to it.
The USCGC Alert was going to be the newest ship in the Coast Guard and I
was excited to say the least. Living
and working on a ship built in the mid-forties wasn’t exactly a week at the
Ritz Hotel and I knew this new ship would strike quite a contrast. I was not disappointed. Added to this was the fact that I just
finished sewing on my second class QM stripes.
The time I spent at sea with the Owasco and the time spent in Viet Nam
gave me confidence. I was confident of
my abilities as a Quartermaster and wore the uniform with a renewed sense of
pride.
The Alert was in the process of having the
finishing touches completed in Curtis Bay and we were about three weeks away
from seeing her for the first time.
During this time orders were arriving for two and three day refresher
training courses for her crew. I found
myself with travel documents for a three day LORAN refresher at Newport, R.I.,
then to proceed immediately to Norfolk for another two days of radar plotting
with the final stop at the Philadelphia Naval Yard for a two-day damage control
school.
It was on the flight from Norfolk to Philadelphia
that I experienced a magnitude of anger I’ve only felt a few times in my
life. Obviously, after spending as much
time as we did in the temperate climate of Southeast Asia along with the constant
sun reflecting off the sea the entire crew of the Owasco had tans that were
well beyond the norm. I was certainly
no different. Wearing dress whites made
it appear even darker. The plane lifted
off from Norfolk and once we got to our cruising altitude the usual peanuts and
soft drinks were being served. One
sweet and very attractive stewardess kept making eye contact with me. At first I thought it was my imagination…..no;
there it was again only this time with a slight smile. Finally it came my turn to be served. I smiled back and asked for a Coke. She sort of pushed the cart ahead of her and
knelt down next to my seat. She pointed
at my flat hat and asked,“You're Coast Guard aren’t you?” “Sure am,” I replied. “Well, you have the greatest tan I’ve seen
in a long time. Where are you coming
from? The Caribbean?” I gave her my greatest smile and said…”No,
I just returned from almost a year in Viet Nam.” The smile immediately left her face. “But you’re in the Coast Guard.”
“Yes miss but we’re there too.”
With that she immediately stood and with the most venomous sneer said,
“Well I hope you didn’t kill too many babies.”
She never looked my way again for the entire flight. I even carried my own empty Coke can off the
plane.
I arrived at the Philadelphia Airport in a rather
foul mood and bumped into one of the Alert’s Seamen heading for the same
destination. We grabbed a cab to the
main gate. The orders stated to report
to one of the receiving buildings with an obscure name and number. Not knowing the layout of the base I told
the Seaman to follow me and entered a brick guardhouse just outside the main
gate to ask for directions. Sitting
behind the counter was a young Marine private doing some paperwork. “Excuse me private, I need some
directions.” The Marine looked up with
no expression, and immediately went back to work on this obviously important
document. I waited about 15 seconds and
tried again. “Private, all I need is
some directions.” Still stewing about
my incident on the plane 2 hours earlier I must have raised my voice a
bit. Another short look only this time
he said “I told you I’d be with you in a second Coast Guard.” The “Coast Guard” was emphasized with a
condescending tone. I felt my blood
pressure begin to rise and was about to enter into a verbal tirade when from
out of an office door just behind the private appeared a giant in khaki. Attached to this giant was a grizzled
weathered face with a scowl mean enough to come in a close second to a Chief
Bosun. I wasn’t certain of his rank but
those Marine stripes and rockers took up most of his sleeve. He looked at me for a split second then
bellowed one word. “PRIVATE!” (I heard
the windows vibrate and I think I noticed some mortar fall from between the
bricks.) The Private jumped to his
feet, did a 180 and snapped to attention.
The Sergeant pointed at me and went on….”Marine, I
want you to take a long hard look at that Coast Guardsman. First, those two black chevrons means he
outranks you by three full grades. That
means that he may accept your apology if you do it quickly before he decides to
put you on report. Second, take a long
look at those ribbons over his left breast pocket. The first one is called a Combat Action Ribbon. You don’t get that by playing games with
Marine privates in Philadelphia. The
first one in the second row has two stars.
He’s probably seen it more than once.
Put plainly Marine, he’s been places you can only hope to get to. Now, do your damned job!”
The private spun around and was as white as my
jumper. I gave one last glance to the
Sergeant and he winked at me as he disappeared back into his office. The Private apologized profusely and I think
he gave us directions. It’s a good
thing the Seaman was listening because my head was far to full of myself to
hear anything. We made it to the proper
building but the Seaman had to keep holding me down on the way. My chest was puffed out with so much air my
feet kept leaving the ground. I forgot
about the stewardess. Damn I felt
proud.