By Commander Ed Bookhardt, USN, Retired
It was an era of continued post WWII prosperity. The Korean War was now in its second year. Naval ports and facilities were abuzz with a myriad of activities in support of Allied operations on that far off peninsular, of which few knew existed before June 1950. It was also the onset of a fifty-year Cold War in which the arms race escalated as the United States struggled to counter the aggression and nuclear threat of the Soviet Union.
There was a national preoccupation with building backyard A-bomb-shelters and rooting out imaginary communists. “3-D” movies, such as “The Wax Museum,” were the rage. Television was in its infancy. The Olds Rocket 88 was “the car” and the song was “You belong to me.” Elvis was not yet a household word, temporarily relieving the Southern Baptist from the task of saving America’s youth from his quivering hips.
I was a young naive Third Class Petty Officer attached to the Naval Air Tech Training Unit at Pensacola, Florida. As is customary, all naval personnel stand certain duties outside of their regularly assigned billets. Such duties or “watches” are normally after regular working hours and on weekends. In most cases for junior enlisted, it included such assignments as: barracks or hanger fire watches, flight line watches, duty driver, messenger, sweepers, etc.
I stood them all, but loathed the hanger fire watches; frankly I had an underlying fear of the dark that was rooted in childhood trauma. I was a big boy, but there could be some damn scary occurrences emanating from those huge dimly lit behemoths late at night. Shadows and sounds could play eerie tricks, particularly with the knowledge; there was a very seriously deranged Duty Officer lurking somewhere out there...
The officer in question, affectionately known as “General Orders Jones” was one bizarre loose cannon. He was notorious for after dark antics, specializing in scaring the crap out of young unsuspecting watch standers. At the onset of the Korean War there was a massive call up of Reservists. Lieutenant Jones was one of those activated. He undoubtedly missed his screening appointment with the shrink as it was common knowledge; he did not have all his skivvies stenciled.
He wore aviator wings but no longer flew…at least, not Navy aircraft…UFOs perhaps. I think he came on board as an Assistant to the Assistant something or other. Looking into his vacant eyes there was nothing there, except maybe the eleven General Orders engraved on his retinas. How and why he became obsessed with the Sentry’s General Orders was a mystery. To the white-hats he was a daunting pain in the ass!
When he was Duty Officer the whole watch section would go absolutely ape-shit! First, trying to recall the General Orders that had been forgotten since the last days of Boot Camp and second, wondering what tricks the goofy a-hole would pull as night fell....
It was a child like game he truly enjoyed playing, for he would creep up on watch standers at unexpected times, and savor the reactions he created. It is a wonder he was never bludgeoned with a night stick! A typical encounter went something like this…
Leaping from a shadowy corner of the hanger bay, he shrieked, “Ah ha, Sentry you are NOT WALKING YOUR POST in a MILITARY MANNER…a very serious violation of the General Orders for sentries! Which Order is it, Sailor?”
Shaken by the sudden confrontation, I drop my night-stick! Bending over to retrieve it, I’m running the memory “buss words” through my mine, muttering, “…Lets see, walk my post, yes walk my post in a military manner and take no shit from the Company Commander.” “Are you showing impertinence to your superior, Sailor?”
“Sorry, NO SIR…just trying to recall the General Order! I believe it is Number two…sir!”
“Why didn’t you challenge me? I could have been an enemy saboteur!” “Sir, I didn’t know you were here…’til you were there, I mean where you are standing now sir!”
“How many F8 and SNJ aircraft are you responsible for in this hanger?
Looking out the corner of my eye I stupidly try to count…one…two… Duh! “All of them SIR, yes, all of them, and, [smirking to myself] and all government property in view!”
“Have you been playing with cockpit controls?”
I blushed, he did say, “Cockpit” didn’t he? Whew, he damn near had me and Little Willie on that one!
“Sir, NO SIR, I’m afraid of airplanes!”
“What is General Order Number Eight?”
BINGO! Crib-note in dungaree pocket kicks in…”Sir, General Order Number Eight is, to give the alarm in case of fire or disorder!” “Ha, a very lucky guess Sentry, now who is the Secretary of the Navy?”
Proudly, I shout back, “Bull Halsey, SIR!”
“Are you being flippant Sailor? It is Kimball, Secretary Dan Kimball…remember that when I see you again!”
And so it went…
Standing there in shambles, my head spiraling into the abyss, I’m locked at rigid attention. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Jones casually adjusts his OOD arm band, throws his shoulders back, chin tucked and with two fingers slowly retrieves “the little green notebook” from his unbuttoned shirt pocket. Following those deliberate theatrics, he motions me to shine my flashlight as he scribbles cryptic notes in its dog-eared pages, saying each word to himself as if I wasn’t there.
As I brace myself for the next verbal onslaught, he simply returns to notebook to his pocket, squares his hat, clicked his heels and saunters aimlessly off into the night, his voice trailing “…there may be serious repercussions from the aforesaid infractions, Sailor! Stand tall and stay alert the enemy may be lurking!”
Under my breath I hiss, “I have met the friggin’ enemy sir, and his arrogant snobbish ass has just left the hanger!”
The Lieutenant was teetering on the brink, perhaps a victim of too many carrier wave-offs…To my knowledge, he never followed up on any of his threats and was released from active duty shortly thereafter…
Just a little insignificant trivia of a time when I wore a young Sailor’s Blues…