“Thank you, Glenda,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll see you next week.” Glenda smiled, too tired to talk anymore. Her eyes closed in sleep by the time I reached the door. The perspiration in my undershirt from riding 10 km to the nursing home had long since dried. I was ready to go out in the summer sun and ride home. Continue reading
“Turn to, crew!” I barked, as I passed the Plebes’ room (Plebes are first-year midshipmen/cadets at US service academies). I kept jogging toward the stairs, confident that the two underclassmen would be scrambling after me, and catch me before I reached the door to Bancroft Hall. I knew well the exhilaration they must feel to be done with classes for the day, and heading away from upper-class harassment for a couple of hours. Continue reading
Dark. Absolutely dark. Deep inside USS Little Rock (CLG-4), the lights were all red, so that the night watch could accommodate their eyes. It had been more than four hours since I had seen white light, and I had gone out on deck early to let my night vision become as sharp as possible. It also helped that I knew the location of every knee-knocker and trip hazard by feel and by heart. 
I reported to the bridge at 2335 and sought out the Officer of the Deck (OOD). As Jerry gave me the run-down on the latest details, my bridge team was doing the same: lookouts, quartermasters, helmsmen, messengers, and status board keepers. The Captain was coming and going between Combat Information Center (CIC or “Combat”) and the bridge. He was always aware of where we were and what we were doing, but he knew that his OOD was driving the ship.
In 1982, the capital of Somalia was still spelled in Italian. Today it is spelled Mogadishu, but it sounds the same. USS Coronado, a large amphibious ship painted white, dominated the harbor as she moored to the pier downtown. 
The flagship of the Commander, US Middle East Force was making her semi-annual Swing around the Indian Ocean, showing the flag and maintaining relations with the local governments. We did not know that it would be our last Swing: before long, the Iran-Iraq war would grind to a halt, but not before the US Middle East Force would be absorbed by the new US Central Command. By the end of the decade, the US Fifth Fleet would dominate the waters between Suez and Singapore, and the Middle East Force would join the Sand Pebbles and the Mediterranean Squadron in the pages of naval history. But not yet. Continue reading
Granted, it’s a hackneyed line, “it was a dark and stormy night.” But it was. For almost a week, USS Lawrence had been making her way across the northern part of the Atlantic on a great circle route from Europe. Although not a small ship, she was taking green water over the bow regularly, as she crashed into each massive roller before rising up and over the crest. Visibility was a philosophical concept, and daylight was something vague in the mist and wind. Continue reading
Among many other things, the 17th Olympiad in Rome in 1960 was remarkable, because it was the first time that the Olympics were broadcast on television worldwide. It took remarkable, active collaboration for the newsreels to be packed up at the end of each day and sent to London, where a jet was waiting to take them to the United States for broadcast throughout the Western Hemisphere. Continue reading
When my 13th summer started, I was a First Class Scout, and leader of the Beaver Patrol, a gang of outcasts who had bonded to become one of the proudest patrols Troop 236 had ever seen. We were the boys who were always chosen last during games at recess; we belonged to no one’s clique. We were also uniquely well-equipped for summer camp that year. We lived in Rome, Italy, and the summer camp was at the Naval Air Station near Rota, Spain. We were multilingual and comfortable on the road. The Troop crossed five countries, caught two different trains to Barcelona, boarded a coastal steamer to Cadiz, and a US Air Force bus to Rota. After camp, we took another bus to Gibraltar, where we boarded the SS Queen Federika by small boat in the dark at 0200. Continue reading
The only time that the Navy sent me to the Pacific for duty was 1977-1981, first on board the USS Reeves (CG-24), then as the Logistics Plans Officer for Commander-in-Chief US Pacific Fleet. 
Reeves was in overhaul for my entire two-year tour, so in effect we lived in Honolulu for four years. This was my first shore tour, and my wife and I dived into the local scene as if we were going to live there forever. A bicycle was probably the most intelligent and easiest mode of transportation on the island of Oahu. I rode mine everywhere, in uniform and in civilian clothes. Continue reading
Muscat, Oman
Late in the winter of 1982, the Great White Whale (USS Coronado) eased into Muscat, Oman, the next port visit on our semiannual swing around the Indian Ocean. Blue-gray mountains ringed the harbor and towered over our ship. Nestled at the foot of the hills and ringing the bay was a brilliant, white, low-lying string of houses and buildings. Continue reading
Mombasa gleamed under a brilliant sun. As USS Coronado tied up to the pier, the officers and crew repaired to the wardroom, mess decks and berthing compartments, where they would watch a live broadcast of the port briefing by the ship chandler’s representative and then call in questions. Continue reading
The Freewheeling Freelancer 