A Veteran's Journey

Trivia Questions (Answers @ end)

1. Who said, “Don’t be pushed around by the fears in your mind. Be led by the dreams in your heart.”?
2. In what movie (and who said it) did we hear, “Let me give you one piece of advice, one old salt to another… Ah, to hell with advice.”?
3. In what song (and who sang it) did we hear the following:
   No, you don’t know me well
   In every little thing only time will tell
   But you believe the things that I do
   And we’ll see it through

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USS Kitty Hawk (CV-63)—October 1975
The Philippines
PI Liberty, Part 2: Party Time

Thanks to those who commented on my previous blog, #103—After Weeks at Sea, Finally… Liberty. Several comments were spot on and reminded me of things I’d forgotten. Here’s a few more shared “memories:”

• “After 63 days on the line, liberty in Olongapo was crazy.”
• “I picked up the Hawk in PI at the same time this was written. I was assigned to the AM (air missile) division in the weapons department. Went on the beach for the first time that night. Olongapo was quite the experience for this 19-year-old.”
• “Was on the Kitty Hawk in 1961, so you know how old I was, and enjoyed Olongapo and Manilla when we pulled in there! Hustlers were almost non-existent and everything was cheap!”
• “Spent 60 some days off Vietnam, pulled in PI for one day! ONE.DAY!”
• “Great story. I was the money man wherever we went. Lent out hundreds and always doubled my money.”
• “Been there many times, and you said it: WEEKS at sea working 18 hours a day.”

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In my last blog, I wrote about the day before pulling into a liberty port (for me, Philippines, our overseas home port), and what we did to prepare, specifically on the flight deck. This week, I’ll touch on what we (or… I) did when I finally got to take liberty in Olongapo City.

When you’re a petty officer in the United States Navy, one of the more/less glamorous duties assigned is the Afterbrow watch. Here, you’re paired with another petty officer and together, you get to watch sailors, contractors, and “other” non-officer/non-VIP personnel come aboard and disembark the ship.

The more “important” people (i.e. officers & non-peons) used the Forward brow. But I digress…

Since I had duty the day we pulled in, I also managed to land the Afterbrow watch from midnight to 0400 (joys!). I got to observe sailors stagger up the Afterbrow after a “first” night of liberty in PI. That was always “fun.” Fortunately, hardly anyone gave us any problems—most sailors who came back aboard had a good time and knew we’d be in port for a week, so they didn’t want to screw up and get thrown into the brig.

“Permission to come aboard, sir?” Hand salute.

“Permission granted.” Salute smartly returned.

And so on and so forth for four hours. Since PI had a midnight curfew, most of the inebriated sailors stumbled back before 0100. After that, all was quiet on the watch. A few minutes before 0400, another petty officer from V-1 Division relieved me. Time for me to catch some shuteye. Even though we were in port, we still had a standard 0730—1530 workday. I’d only get a couple of hours’ sleep.

But then, it’d be my turn for PI liberty.

Since I worked in V-1 Division/Crash, a normal workday for us in port was typically spent maintaining the Crash equipment: one MB-5 Crash truck, two MD-3 converted aircraft tow tractors for Crash, the Crash forklift, and “Tilly,” the NS-50 Crash crane. Check the oil, kick the tires, and look for any leaks. Not a lot of time needed for those PMS (Preventative Maintenance Schedule) tasks. After that, training and if you were good at it like me, making yourself look busy.

Or as we like to say in the military, “Hurry Up & Wait!”

At 1530 (3:30 in the afternoon), it was liberty time. I wasn’t in any hurry, since I’d loaned out most of my money to others in the division for their first night (loan $20, get back $40 on payday). I’d be playing it safe tonight: a nice dinner, slugging down a few San Miguel beers, and hanging out at my favorite bar, the “Country Caravan.”

Since I only had $15 to my name, I’d go in with two great friends: Smitty and Mac, both Fly 3 Yellow Shirts. Mac was a first class PO and the Fly 3 LPO (Leading Petty Officer); Smitty was a third class PO like me. They hung out a lot together—both were married with wives back in the states and when they went out on the town, they didn’t stray. That always impressed me (and still does).

“Hey, Chet. You ready, yet?” Smitty’s rack in the V-1 Division berthing compartment was across the aisle from mine. He was ready to get off the ship, too.

“Almost.” I was wearing my civvies and back in the 70s, that was usually polyester; at least for me. Dark slacks, a light colored polyester button-down long sleeve that looked like a drunk hippie designed it using tie-dye materials, and dark brown, polished penny loafers. I was decked out.

Smitty was from Texarkana and wore blue denim jeans, a plaid snap-button shirt, and his cowboy boots. I half expected him to wear his cowboy hat, which he often did, but not tonight.

“Mac coming with us?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’ll meet us down on the hangar deck in a few minutes.”

The V-1 berthing compartment was located on the forward part of the ship toward the bow on the 02 level, just below the flight deck. You can imagine that sleep during flight operations (i.e., launches off Cats 1 & 2) might be a challenge, but believe me… you get used to it, especially after spending 16-18 hours on the flight deck.

“There’s Mac,” Smitty acknowledged with a nod. He hadn’t been waiting long.

“Damn, Chet. You plannin’ on staying ashore tonight? You’re decked out like the south end of a north bound mule.”

Typical of Mac. We all laughed at his non-timid sense of humor. Mac was a great Yellow Shirt director and always watched out for his guys. He was vertically-challenged (i.e., short) & stocky, but didn’t take crap off anyone on the flight deck. He’d seen too much in his eight years as an ABH, and safety was his middle name.

“Not tonight, Mac. I only have a few bucks with me—dinner and a show is all I can afford. That’s why I hang out with you guys. You’re ‘safe.’” Mac & Smitty knew exactly what I meant.

And so it continued, this back-and-forth one-upmanship as we disembark the ship and head out toward Olongapo City. We pass through the base checkpoint, guarded by Marines. I don’t recognize any of them, but I’m sure they recognize me from an “incident” that happened last time we were in port… something I would not repeat again.

So how would one describe PI? Cheap hookers, San Miguel beer, Jeepneys, baluts, grilled monkey meat, Shit River, and martial law. Yep… that’s pretty much how I remember PI in 1975.

Anyone else?

You can smell it before you see it. I won’t lie… Shit River is exactly what you think it is. A river cesspool that you have to cross over before you hit the outskirts of Olongapo City. Houses on stilts line the opposite side of the river and the occupants dump everything (I mean everything) into the river.

Yet, several small wooden boats line up alongside the bridge, with young boys paddling and young girls standing at the bow with a small hand-held net. “Throw me piso, mister. You got plenty, I know you do.”

It’s a sight you don’t want to remember, but every time you cross over the bridge, they’re there. A few sailors toss a piso or two their way, sometimes purposefully missing the net, only to watch the young boys jump into the cesspool river to swim down to retrieve it.

I don’t mean to demean these kids—back in the mid-70s, this is just the way it was.

And then, we’re in Olongapo City. It’s about 1700 (5:00 p.m.) and Sailors and Marines filled the dusty streets. Bars and restaurants line the boardwalks on both sides of the main street, but the first place to head is the bank to exchange dollars for pisos.

In the mid-70s, the exchange rate was 6 pisos to one US dollar; more if you could find your way around the back alleys and locate an “exchange artist.” But that could also be a little dangerous, especially if you didn’t know where you were going.

All three of got our share of pisos and since I only had $15, I knew my night limit was 90 pisos. Sounds like a lot of money—and in 1975, it was plenty for the night.

Our first stop was to get a decent meal. We went to one of the local well-known restaurants with a good reputation which had a variety of selections, only a few of which I’d tried in the past.

Tonight, I’d treat myself to my favorite: Shanghai Fried Rice with a fried egg on top and an order of Lumpia. And of course… a San Miguel beer, made right there in the Philippines. All for about 15 pisos (about $2 US).

Yeah, liberty was good & cheap in PI.

I didn’t have Shore Patrol duty this time in port, but when two Shore Patrol stuck their heads in the restaurant, I recognized one of them from V-1 Division.

Gary Borne was also in Crash; we served together at NAS Agana, Guam, before transferring to Kitty Hawk. He was a big, tall, good-looking guy from Hagerstown, MD. He looked even bigger and more intimidating in his summer whites, complete with his Dixie Cup, white web belt, and patrol baton.

“Borno… wanna join us?” We were all good friends on the flight deck and had shared some hectic experiences. You get to know people well when you’re under stressful situations.

“Not now. Still gotta make the rounds. All’s quiet so far, but I’m sure things will pick up a little before midnight.” We all knew what he meant, since Shore Patrol was a duty all petty officers took at one time or another.

PI was under a curfew and word was out that you could be shot on sight if caught in the streets after curfew. As far as I know, no one was ever shot while I was in PI, but that was enough of a warning to get us back on the base before midnight.

After Gary left and we finished our meal, we all headed over to my favorite bar: the Country Caravan. I’ve always been a fan of country music, especially the oldies from Merle Haggard, Hank Williams, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, and Willie Nelson. But I was also becoming accustomed to the “new” country singers like Ronnie Milsap, Lynn Anderson, Terri Gibbs, and Tanya Tucker.

The thing was… at the Country Caravan, the lead singer could sing them all and sing them well. Her name was Susan King and when she sang, she didn’t have a Filipino accent like so many other singers. And her voice was pure. The band was tight, too. All were Filipino and they knew how to play their instruments.

As soon as we walked into the Country Caravan, we were surrounded by… how shall I say this?… “social entertainers.” Or if you prefer the military terminology: “Navy Relief.” Some of the hookers were nice looking, others… probably the same vintage as from World War II. But they were always fun to watch as they made their way around the bar.

“Hey sailor. Looking for a good time? Buy me drinkee?” And I’m sure a few other choice phrases trying to entice their male companions into buying watered-down drinks and a “little more.”

“Not tonight, darlin’. I got no money ‘cept for San Miguel. Can you fetch us a round?”

Her warm smile turned to a cold smirk, but that’s just how it was. I came into town with Smitty & Mac because I only had enough money for dinner & beer. That was fine by me. Payday was still a couple of days away, but this night on the town, I had enough to tie me over. This wasn’t my first rodeo, so to speak.

After another beer, we decided to head over to another country bar. In my opinion, it wasn’t as good as the Country Caravan, but Mac liked the band.

Across the street, I spotted a couple of other Crash crew members and caught their eye. Stovall & Flournoy were headed to the “Soul” street. Kuiphoff, Charlie Brown, and a few other Yellow and Blue Shirts were headed to the “Rock” street. Just like Bourbon Street in New Orleans, there was music for anyone and everyone.

“Hang on a minute, Mac. Let me grab a bag ‘a bread.”

Pandesal bread was a locally made bread roll and many vendors made it right there on the street. A bag of a dozen Pandesal bread rolls cost three pisos (about $.50 USD). Light & buttery and… hot out of the oven.

Even though in the 70s we’d never heard the term “cholesterol,” I’m sure these were on the upper end of the scale. Mac & Smitty didn’t want any, so I had the entire bag to myself. Not that I’m stingy, but Pandesal bread, like Lumpia, is something I don’t think you can find anywhere but PI. I finished the “straight-out-of-the-oven” bag ‘a bread before we got to the next bar.

And… just like the Country Caravan, bar girls immediately surrounded us—probably three girls for every guy. I remembered something that Big Willie (Asst Crash LPO) told me before going out on my first trip into Olongapo. “Never have more than one girlfriend in the same bar. It’s okay to have a girlfriend in different bars, but just not in the same bar.”

“Why?” I was curious.

“There could be a rift between the girls, which could easily escalate into something really nasty. And—I’m speaking from personal experience—they can wield a butterfly knife like you’ve never seen and would not hesitate to cut you or your other girlfriend.”

Made sense to me, so I always made sure that I followed BW’s advice when out in Olongapo.

A few more San Miguels and lots more country music. Now and then, we’d again be surrounded by the girls. Some purposefully sat on my lap, as they did Smitty & Mac, but they shooed them away. I did, but maybe not as quickly. Something about several San Miguel beers and the clock ticking toward midnight.

Why does Mickey Gilley’s song, “The Girls All Get Prettier At Closing Time,” come to mind?

There were even Filipino photographers that would take a Polaroid shot of you and/or your table for five pisos.

Like before, the Shore Patrol stuck their heads in the bar, usually about once an hour. Since this was the second night of liberty for Kitty Hawk and her escorts (Cruisers, Destroyers, Ocean Escorts), the bars weren’t as wild as they were the night before. But it was still a routine to check every bar, every restaurant, and every hole in the wall, just to make sure.

When out on the town with a few friends, it was often a “test” to see who would cave in first—that is, who would say they were ready to head back to the ship and turn in.

Tonight, it was me. I’d had the Afterbrow dog watch (0000—0400) the night before, got less than three hours of sleep before morning muster, worked (sort of) all day, then out on the town. I was dog tired, but I think Smitty & Mac were also ready to go. It was only 22:30 (10:30 pm).

As we headed back toward the base, there was a lot of activity on the streets. Sailors & marines were bar-hopping, many had female companions. You could also see the girls egging the sailors to buy them a balut (a disgusting [to me] Filipino delectable). I know all were trying to decide whether to head back to base & their ship(s), take their lady friends to a hotel, or escort them back to their homes. It would be a routine we’d witness night after night while in port.

I also couldn’t forget the many BBQ grills lined up along the street, selling anything from monkey meat to dog meat, but yelling out “chicken” when you got close. It smelled so good, but I’d learned my lesson the hard way NOT to buy from these guys. The Filipinos learned a long time ago that drunk sailors are always hungry, especially for something that smelled so good.

Me? I timed my money and my exhaustion just right: back to the berthing compartment about 2300 (11 pm), slipped off my shoes & stored them in my locker, and just dove into my rack with my clothes on. I had three pisos left in my pocket.

Until we meet again,
Andy

Answers

1. Roy T. Bennett.
2. Cinderella Liberty (1973), Lynn Forshay (Eli Wallach).
3. Make it With You (1970), B.R.E.A.D; written by Gates David Ashworth.