JUST ARRIVED AND OUT OF SHAPE

• 12, 18, 2021
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CORONADO DAYS

JUST ARRIVED AND OUT OF SHAPE

When I first arrived in Coronado, I had a pretty rough time. In a moment of boredom and frustration I had applied for Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) training and had arrived at the NavPhib Base with my orders. As it turned out the program was probably harder for me than for others because I was so far out of shape when I arrived. I had come directly from the destroyer Navy–the Samuel N. Moore. I had only a two-week break, not enough time to do any training. I was a little fat and a lot lethargic.

If you set out to make up a program that would get a young man into the worst possible condition, you could not do better than to make him an officer on a destroyer. Don’t let him get any exercise—he can’t, because of the rocking of the ship. Put him in a wardroom, served by talented cooks—the stewards—who will feed him a lot of savory high calorie food. Don’t let him do any actual physical work—officers are not allowed to get their hands dirty. Every two weeks or so, send him ashore to stay out all night and drink himself into the next century. When he returns to the ship, take him out onto a rolling sea and then wake him up at a different time every night for his four hours of watch.

The ship had a way of making people a little wiggy.  Once, in Hong Kong on the Moore, we had to tackle a seaman who was taking potshots at small boats from the fantail. Everybody got strange after a month or so at sea. 

I was qualified as Officer of the Deck underway, which means I commanded the ship underway when on watch. There was not another operational level for me to strive for, at least not without a reenlistment. And, because the same officers played poker in the wardroom almost every evening at sea, I had already learned most of the tells of my fellow players.  So, the games were becoming monotonous and I felt that I had plateaued out in terms of new things to learn.  I see now that I had a whole lot more to learn but that was my thinking back then.

This is not to say that I hated the sea duty.  My best friend from college, Ben West, was on the destroyer.  I had managed to get myself assigned to the same ship and I treasure the memories of tours in the Far East.  And I was proud of developing some proficiency in ship handling.  I was proud of my newly learned navy skills in my assigned billet, anti-submarine warfare.  I had a fine chief to work with and I got on well with my shipmates. West and I had a phenomenal mentor, Lieutenant Mariner, who became a good friend.

But there were frustrations. We had an incompetent executive officer—–second in command—–and a narcissistic captain whose main goal seemed to be to have a spiffier captain’s gig–his personal boat–than any other captain in the division. So, our crews spent an insane amount of time keeping his personal boat—called a gig–immaculate. Though I hated to leave my old pal West and my mentor Mariner it was definitely time for me to get off the Moore if I could do it.

If I had been realistic about what I was getting into I might have reconsidered.  I was leaving behind my responsible job as a qualified officer of the deck underway; my apprenticeship completed. I had my snappy uniforms complete with tailor-made dress blues and a ceremonial sword; my clean, soft bunk, kept in order by Navy stewards; the chance to tour Japan and the Pacific islands on a regular basis; the privilege of drinking martinis on the cheap at officers’ clubs around the world; and the pleasure of hanging out with some very cool women. Now, here I was, arrived in Coronado, not yet fully aware that, for the next couple of months, I’d be getting no sleep and having no fun at all and busting my ass, all because I had, in a moment of outright insanity, signed on to become a frogman.

On the first day at muster, all trainees—forty-five of us–were addressed by Petty Officer First Keven Murphy, handsome, short, bandy legged and superbly conditioned.  He wore one of those World War I campaign hats, like the one you see on Smokey the Bear. He was the kind of guy about whom you could say he could strut sitting down. But he also had a wicked sense of humor and I think that’s why we got along.  He told us trainees on the first day, “You may think you don’t have the body for this.  Don’t worry about your body; if you have the will the Navy will give you the body.”  Turns out he was right. The men who finished the course were ones you’d never have picked out from the early gaggle of pasty-faced trainees.  As time went on, Instructor Murphy became my most severe taskmaster, and later on a good friend.

Right away, on the first day, we put on our newly issued high top field shoes and went for a run in the deep sand.  About halfway through, Murphy blew his whistle and ordered us to run into the surf and to keep running in the surf. We couldn’t believe it and had to be told twice.  I thought this was going to run these government issue shoes but it turned out to make them supple so that they conformed to our feet. Thereafter, I had no trouble with blisters.  I was astounded at how well this worked and I’ve broken in new leather footwear that way ever since (except without the salt water).