When
our phone rang at ~10pm one night, several thoughts passed through my
mind. Starting with, this is one of the myriad of reasons NOT to have a phone!
Progressing to, who the hell is calling at this time of night? (I hope it's not
work) and then on to, I hope it's not an emergency and no one is in trouble.
It
better not be a telemarketer, at this time of night! She
said.
Stumbling
to the kitchen and turning on the light, the caller ID said Guam.
Where
the hell is Guam? I was asked.
It's
in the western Pacific, just answer the goddamn phone, it's Richie.
Hello,
Richie is this you?
Hey
mom, I'm in Guam! Just wanted to say hello and let you know I'm OK. How is
everyone there?
Everyone
is fine. What time is it there?
It's
tomorrow, mom! We're on the other side of the dateline.
Really?
Well, isn't this a "back to the future" moment.
Fully
awake now and listening to the conversation continue, my mind drifted off to my
times on the other side of the "dateline". (Both of them...the
International and the Social). A "back to the future" moment indeed…
Port
of Call, Agana, Guam. "Where America's day begins."
After
65 long days in the Indian Ocean and seeing the sun only once during a swim
call, it didn't much matter where we pulled in, we were glad to be there.
An
American Territory, it's the first American soil to see the sun of the coming
day. An "upkeep" port we were
there to work, do repairs on the boat and then head north for some time in a
Soviet harbor. It was hard work, but we
were young and sure to play hard every day.
OK, some days we were just stupid.
What
is there to do here?
In
Guam? Sweat, drink beer and scuba dive,
in any order you can find them.
Pulling
in and connecting shore power, so that we could shutdown our engine room and
reactor, we worked well past the running of the "duty van", which had
been shuttling people to the barracks we would stay in while there.
Grumbling,
we headed for "Andy's Hut", the dive on base bar with adjacent beach
and swimming area. Affectionately known
as "Andy's Chateau by the Sea", it was like a lot of other on base
bars, dark. The better to keep one from
seeing what a dive it really was.
"Andy's" had two features to remember it by, the two beautiful
shuffleboards along the back wall and the adjacent swimming area.
Angry
that we were facing another night of sleeping on the boat, we consoled
ourselves with the thought that at least we'd be doing it drunk. Several beers into the night, our spirits
were brightened, when a shipmate walked in with a set of car keys.
Where
the hell have you been?
Looking
for a vehicle...a vehicle with the keys in it.
It's outside let's go....
He
had found a flatbed, farm truck with cattle car sides and US Navy printed on
the doors. Piling on to the truck bed,
we were off. Driving right by the
dumbfounded Marines at the gate, stopping at the barracks to pick up some
others and numerous cases of "San Miguel" a Phillipino beer, we
headed into town.
Sailing
towards Guam, someone had dubbed the local Guamanians as "Guamaniacs". The locals weren't the "Guamaniacs"
that night, it was us! Seeing the
"Golden Arches" McDonalds flag (yes there's even a McDonalds in
beautiful downtown Agana, Guam) proudly displayed on the mess decks the next
morning confirmed it. I wish I could remember
who actually took it.
After
a stern "talking to" from our CO we figured it would be a good idea
to spend at least some of our off time doing something constructive. So thirteen of us enrolled in an open water
scuba course. It was the first time I had
tried it and what a blast!
In
port for a month, it is interesting to remember the cycles that occurred in
that short time period.
"Guamaniacs" upon our arrival, after being at sea for so many
consecutive days, we soon settled into a routine and spent most of our time
diving. As the month wore on and the
boat was put through sea trials following repairs, we quickly shifted back to
the other end of the scale, knowing that it would be quite some time again
before we would be able to "blow off some steam".
Most
of the month the boat was moored alongside the pier, but following sea trials, we
had tied up abreast, alongside the "tender", or repair ship. This presented us the opportunity to be
reminded, of course, that we were still in the Navy. The submarine service and the "skimmer
fleet" are two very different entities and even though we always worked
closely with the repair ships, theirs was a different Navy and they never
missed an opportunity to remind us of that when given opportunity. Haircuts, shoe shines and what kind of civilian
clothes we wore were never very important to a submarine command, but just the
type of nit-picky things that the "skimmer fleet" loved to pick
on. Then they wonder why no one stays
in.
Being
moored alongside meant that now we had to play by their rules on our way ashore
to go on liberty. We had to play the
"request permission to go ashore" games, just like being in grade
school again and having to ask permission NOT to piss your pants. The military will make a man out of you, by
treating you like a child one moment, then giving you control of a
multi-million dollar reactor and submarine the next. It never made much sense to me, but I
digress.
As
a group of us headed out on liberty across the quarterdeck of the tender, the
chief there began to lick his chops. Ten
bubble heads all in a row pick an argument with the first one and then not let
any of us leave. I love it when people
like this are beaten at their own game.
Request
permission to go ashore, sir. Asked
the first man in line.
Not
with that haircut, you won’t, was the chief's reply. Go back down to your boat and get a
haircut first.
As
the rest of us held back a groan, expecting the worst, the first of several
surprises occurred.
Yes,
sir came the reply. Not
getting the response he had been expecting, the chief was caught off guard and
had no choice, but to just let the rest of us pass.
I'll
meet you at "Andy's" after I get a haircut, wait for me. Agreeing we would see him there, the rest
of us started the walk across base to "Andy's Chateau by the Sea"
with adjacent swimming area.
The
shortest distance between two points is of course a straight line; the path
across base was anything but, unlike the path from topside of the
submarine. Arriving at Andy's hot and
sweaty already; we walked in to find our shipmate sitting at the bar. A puddle of water formed beneath his barstool
and a grin on his face, we were greeted with a Hey, what took you guys so
long?
Returning
to the boat for a "haircut" he had slipped over the side into the
clean 84 F water and gone to Andy's via the adjacent swimming area. Ah, the tropics are a wonderful place to
live, never needing more than a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and some flip flops
to wear. (Maybe politician should live there)
Remembering
now how we laughed at the site of him sitting there, and the friendships made,
more than makes up for the memories of nit-picky rules, most of which made no
sense. In time they'll make up for it,
for you too, Richie, I think to myself.
OK,
let us know when you'll be home! Bye now, stay safe, love you.
As
the conversation ends, I'm brought back to the moment with a question.
How
did you know, it was Richie?
Hmmmm…What's
that they say about the "de jevu, all over again" kind of feeling?
That it's the sense of, "haven't I been here before?" Hey wait! I
have been there before!
What's
that, dear? I ask.
How
did you know, it was Richie?
I've
been there before, dear. Maybe I'll write a story about it.
