A Veteran's Journey

Trivia Questions (Answers @ end)

1. Who said, “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always.”?
2. In what movie (and who said it) did we hear, “What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate”?
3. In what song (and who sang it) did we hear the following?
   You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I had told you
   You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I could hold you
   You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I could
   Mold you into someone who could
   Cherish me as much as I cherish you

Thanks to those who commented on my previous blog, “#71—The Swear Jar.” Several comments were spot on and reminded me of things I’d forgotten. Here’s a few more shared “memories:”

• “I couldn’t afford a swear jar. It would be like watching ‘Scarface’ with Al Pacino; drop a dollar every time I swore or took a shot. I’d be passed out and broke halfway through the flick.”
• “Yep… I’d have more money than I’d know what do with it.”
• “If I had a swear jar, I could pay off seven student loans.”
• “My swear jar would have to be a (swear jar term)’ing oil storage tank.”

---

Memorable Moments (Part 1) Revisited

Several months ago, I wrote about “Those Memorable Moments on the Flight Deck.” USS Kitty Hawk, CV-63, was my “home” from March ’75 until I left the Navy in July ’77. I’ve written several blogs about my experience on the flight deck in V-1 Division/Crash & as a Yellow Shirt director.

Several readers commented on that particular post and provided their own memorable moments. I guess we all experience those types of memories—some we like more than others. And… sometimes they’re triggers–good or bad–but most veterans have them.

My dad, a WWII combat veteran, often said, “That’s life.” I couldn’t agree more. I wrote a book about his time in the war: You Can’t Get Much Closer Than This-Combat with the 80th “Blue Ridge” Division in World War II Europe.

My first duty station (“You Always Remember Your First”) was NAS Agana, Guam. Let me share with you a few of my more memorable moments on Guam. I know many of you were also either stationed in Guam or “stopped by” for a visit on your way to a Westpac cruise.

My First Impression

Besides being an island paradise surrounded by thousands of miles of crystal clear blue water, Guam is part of the Mariana Islands. The island is 32 miles “long” (north to south) and anywhere between 4 to 8 miles “wide.” It’s also a U.S. territory with a population (2021) of 168,800. There’s also a long and interesting history of Guam during WWII and the Vietnam War.

Guam was my “home” from November 1973 until February 1975, and I was assigned to the Crash & Rescue Division at NAS Agana, Guam. The base was located pretty much in the middle of the island.

Two parallel runways served both the US Navy aircraft and the civilian population—the civilian terminal was on the “other side” of the runways. And, right next to us, were the Guamanian airport firefighters. A good crew; several times we responded with them to a non-airport (but base-related) emergency, such as a house or other structure fire. We often hob-knobbed with them, mostly playing poker during after-hours.

After graduating from ABH “A” School in Lakehurst, NJ, I had a few weeks of leave before heading to Guam. Once I began the long trip, it took almost 36 hours of traveling from my home in Gainesville, Florida to Guam.

I vividly remember stepping off the Pan Am 707, tired & weary, and walking out into a sauna—hot & humid. Even though I had grown up in Florida, this hit me like a ton of bricks. But then, I told myself this would be my new home and it was a tropical island… a sort of paradise that would not disappoint me.

Money Out the Window

I’ve written a few posts about the “rush” of driving various Crash fire trucks, both in Guam and aboard Kitty Hawk–an obvious stark contrast between the two. That was a memorable time for me, especially an 18-year-old kid who’d had four traffic tickets before joining the Navy. Of course, none of them were my fault. But learning to drive the trucks and being a driver/operator with three to four crew members in my truck was an awesome responsibility.

We worked 24 hours on and 24 hours off, two sections, “Port” and “Starboard,” and did so for 15 months straight. Part of our duty was to spend time out on the Alert Spot or Hot Spot—a designed area located between the parallel runways, about midway.

Two, four-hour shifts out on the Alert Spot… it got a little boring at times, but we found ways to pass the time. We weren’t supposed to take anything with us on the truck other than water and smokes, if that was your thing. But most of us carried a book, or perhaps I’d sneak my guitar out there, or periodically, a deck of cards, or a board game.

When you’re bored… play a board game

On one occasion, I was the driver/operator and brought out a game of Monopoly. I figured it would help pass the time of day. There were four of us in one of the smaller MB-5 Crash trucks, so we had a little extra room in the cab to lay out the board.

We were on the noon to four shift, so there was plenty of daylight. Air traffic was slow, but there was a Navy P-3 Orion (ASW patrol) flying in the pattern practicing touch and gos. I noticed the first few times that the P-3 touched down a little harder than normal.

Most people wouldn’t notice such trivial things, but when you’re out on the alert spot for hours at a time and all you have to do is watch airplanes take off and land, you learn many of their idiosyncrasies.

And then, just like that, it happened…

I kept my eye on the P-3, all the while continuing to play Monopoly. About the third go round, the P-3 hit and I could tell it blew a tire—time for an “emergency.” However, the pilot didn’t realize he’d blown a tire and kept heading down the runway, ready to take off again. I switched on the emergency lights and the siren and took off chasing the plane down the runway while my crew suited up. Adrenaline level was kicking in for all of us.

And, as we flew down the runway chasing the P-3, the Monopoly money was flying out the window. I don’t know if anyone in Tower Control saw it, but I’ll have to admit, it was probably pretty funny. Thank goodness we weren’t playing with real money, which we’d done upon occasion.

I radioed the tower regarding the emergency and what I witnessed, but for some reason the radio was full of static and they couldn’t understand a word I said. However, they saw us chasing the P-3, so Tower Control called the Crash Barn and all the trucks rolled—SOP for an unknown emergency.

They apparently radioed the P-3 pilot too, because the plane began to slow toward the end of the runway which was a good thing since it wasn’t the best condition to land a turboprop aircraft, or any other aircraft for that matter, with a blown tire.

The plane was in the middle of the runway and there wasn’t enough room for me to pass, so I skirted out onto the grassy field on the port side.

We were just doing our job

When we finally pulled out in front of the stopped plane, my rescue guy, Gary Cuzner, got out fully suited up with a fire extinguisher at the ready (we saw no flames or fire)–the standard operating procedure for an emergency of this type.

Like the pro he was, Gary signaled the pilot to cut the engines; all the while the pilot didn’t have a clue what was going on. He was probably confused and pissed at the same time. But after cutting the engines, the co-pilot climbed out and spotted the shredded tire on the starboard side of the plane, informed the pilot, and came back out to thank us for being so alert and averting a potential disaster.

No telling what would have happened had they taken off for another touch and go with a flat tire. But it wouldn’t have been a good day for anybody. We were in the right place at the right time, and I was proud of my crew. We just did our job. And that’s the reason why they call it the “Alert Spot.”

Gary Cuzner, R.I.P.

Speaking of Gary Cuzner…

Gary was a cute kid from Boston. He was short, smiley, and always happy—never a bad word about anything or anybody. I believe he arrived in Guam a little after I did.

We lost Gary toward the end of my tour of duty on Guam. He had taken six days’ R&R (Rest & Relaxation) in Hong Kong. Unfortunately, we learned he died one night after drinking too much rice wine; at least, that’s about all they’d tell us.

Such a waste—Gary was such a nice guy. Everybody liked him. I know it devastated his family. Bill Riggs, also a crewman in our “Port” section, flew back home accompanying his casket to present the American flag to his family. We held a memorial service at the base chapel for him on January 7, 1975, and everyone in the Crash & Rescue Division attended.

This was my first encounter of losing a fellow shipmate. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last.

USO Boonie Stomps

One of the best service organizations offered for military personnel on Guam was the USO. They catered to all military men and women and besides having a great recreational hall, they held monthly Boonie Stomps where they would take a bunch of us out on tours all over the island.

I explored places, beaches, and World War II battle sites I would probably never have gone on my own. It also provided a much needed relief away from the nightly bar scene in downtown Agana (now known as Hagåtña). They were well organized and if memory serves, the buses were almost always full.

I met several service personnel from the other naval stations and Anderson Air Force Base on these boonie stomps. While I didn’t make any long-lasting friends, several of us were regulars and it was interesting to learn more about the other military branches and their missions in Guam.

Some of my favorite boonie stomps included Cetti Falls, Inarahan Zoo, Gadao’s Cave, Gun Beach, and Bali Hai Falls. I went on about a half dozen different boonie stomps during my stay on Guam.

I know there are USO locations all over the world; anyone else partake in USO-sponsored events?

Believe it or not, I was so impressed with the USO that when I retired (my first time), I looked into returning to Guam to become a part of the USO. Obviously that didn’t happen, but it certainly made a lasting impression on me.

Drugs In & Drugs Out

Guam is located between Asia and the United States. Back during my time in Guam, it was also a major gateway for drugs headed from Southeast Asia to the U.S. or Mexico. I wasn’t into drugs and never have been, but apparently there were some guys on the base who were… big time. There were constant inspections and almost every time, somebody got busted—even from our own division.

The base Military Police (MP) gave us a lecture at the Crash Barn one time about hashish and held up a “brick” about five inches by ten inches by a half-inch thick. I’d never seen hashish before and didn’t really know what it was, but I noticed several guys in our division were literally drooling. I remember one guy at a later time showed me a hit of LSD, though it was so small and plain looking that I thought he was pulling my leg.

No one ever tried to persuade me to do dope, for which I am eternally thankful. I know at the time it was rampant–this was during the Vietnam War–and this may sound a little self-righteous, but I literally got high off of life. For me, there was a lot more to life than drugs and I was living proof. Scuba diving, flying airplanes, and boonie stomps… yeah, that worked for me!

Operation “Goldenflow“

Every so often we would have a surprise inspection at the Crash Barn during the 0800 shift change. Everyone had to supply a urine sample for testing… “on demand.” This was fondly known as “piss test day.” Lifers called it Operation Goldenflow.

Several guys in the division attempted to get others to pee in their cup, but the corpsman had their standard orders and watched every guy pee. God, what an awful job. If someone tested positive for drugs, they would get written up, be confined to the base, and ordered to take a piss test every day for six straight weeks.

Several times the base commanding officer, or the “Old Man” as we would call him behind his back, would venture over to the Crash Barn–unannounced. He usually showed up at night after chow and would often sit around shooting the bull with us. I thought he was just being a nice guy, getting to know the guys in the division. Later, I found out he was really trying to stir the pot, looking for signs of drugs.

I was so naïve back then.

The Freedom Bird

As time got closer to my departure date, I became a “Short Timer.” Being “short” definitely affects your outlook; we called it having a “GAF” attitude.

Anyone else get the GAF attitude? You know… the “FIIGMO” type attitude? (Google it).

Some guys even made a short timer chain that hung from their belt for everyone to see and admire, with one link representing one day, (signifying too short to care) and usually started with thirty links. The mantra then became, “thirty days and a wake-up,” or whatever amount of time was left.

I didn’t make a short timer’s chain, but towards the end, I certainly came on duty with the “twenty days and a wake up” attitude.

Several of my good buddies would also transfer to Kitty Hawk. Glenn Law and I would leave Guam for the states on the same flight. Gary Borne had already transferred to Kitty Hawk. James Young, who was with me at boot camp, A School, and Guam, would also be aboard Kitty Hawk.

It didn’t help that the Navy waited until the last minute to let me know when I would be leaving. But when they did, I had my orders to leave Guam on February 10, 1975 flying out of Anderson AFB. My orders would get me to Travis AFB in San Francisco and then to San Diego (Kitty Hawk’s home port), which the Navy paid for. I needed to get back home to Gainesville, Florida, to see my family. That would come out of my pocket.

Hello, USA!

Our freedom flight was a Northwest Orient 707. Glenn and I climbed on board and settled down for a long flight. It was about an eight-hour trip back to Hawaii, a couple of hour’s layover, then onto a military aircraft to Travis AFB near San Francisco.

I had left Guam in my summer whites because Guam is, well… a tropical island.

When we arrived in San Francisco in February—it wasn’t tropical weather. In fact, it was hovering around freezing and I had stowed my peacoat away in my seabag. To top that off, when we got to the San Francisco airport terminal about five in the morning, it was closed and didn’t open until six. We had to stand outside for about an hour. You can bet your sweet ass I dug in my seabag for my peacoat. It definitely made a difference.

I flew into Jacksonville where my mom picked me up. Wow, had I changed—after all, it had been 15 months since I’d last seen her. Sure, we had exchanged letters (she kept all mine, which I still have & treasure) and I had talked with her and my dad twice–it just wasn’t the same. We had a lot of catching up to do during my 30 days leave.

My next “home” would be USS Kitty Hawk, based in San Diego. And that would be another great duty station.

Stay safe, my friends. The journey continues!

Until we meet again,
Andy

Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books. His newest novel, NEVER FORGET, is the story of A Vietnam Veteran’s Journey for Redemption & Forgiveness. NEVER FORGET is FREE (eBook, PDF) for all veterans. Download your FREE copy HERE.

Previous posts mentioned in this blog:

• #71—The Swear Jar
• #47—“Those” Memorable Moments, Part 1
• #53—You Always Remember Your First
• #35—US Navy “A” School (ABH)
• #52—30 Days and a Wake Up!

Answers

1. Robin Williams is known to have expanded upon and used this quote, but it’s originally attributed to Ian Maclaren.
2. Cool Hand Luke (1967), Captain (Strother Martin).
3. Cherish (1966), The Association; written by Terry Kirkman.