home: http://minemen.us/
by Ĝan Ŭesli Starling
copyright 2003
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I was a mineman in the US Navy from 1974-10-10 until 1978-10-11. My opinion of the navy is that it was worth doing...once. I mostly got out on account of three reasons: Mike Harwell, Lt. Gentry and a certain captain who’s name I forget.
Mike Harwell was my roommate in Maryland during SLMM (Submarine Launched Mobile Mine — say “slim”) school. He seemed perfectly okay there, and also when we went to Maine. But in Keyport, Washington he said he felt ill. And James King had also laid down a motor bike and said his arm hurt. Lt. Gentry gave them both a hard time. Told them that our detachment’s sick bay was back home in South Carolina, all the way across the country, a multi-hour plane ride for which neither one had a ticket. Otherwise, Gentry threatened, he would write them both up for malingering. The two glumly trooped off to sick bay anyway. King came back with a cast on his arm, it was broken. Harwell came back with some pills, I think. Gentry said Harwell looked fine to him, ragged on Mike a while about it, but never did write him up.
Later Mike started coughing up blood. And so began the sad story of how I learned that my free medical benefits care of the navy were worth about what I paid for them.
Mike never did get better. He only got worse. And before too long he was dead. I was a pall bearer at his military funeral. Stood at attention for the 18-gun salute and watched as they folded up the flag and handed it solemnly to Mike’s mom.
So how did that happen? When we got back to Charleston, Mike’s condition only got worse. He ended up eventually at the Regional Naval Hospital there. None of the docs could seem to figure out what Mike had. And, no it wasn’t AIDS. This was 1977, and his condition worsened too quickly. It seemed to mimic a lot of things. Then one day, MNCS Joe Balderrama got the SLMM team together and informed us all that Mike had been diagnosed with this thing called Goodparson’s syndrome at the Navy’s top hospital in Bethesda, Maryland. We were told that no cure was known, and that Bethesda had transferred Mike to Walter Reed Army Hospital, where soon he died.
Later another mineman said to me that he, himself, had overheard MNCS Joe Balderrama talking to Gentry in the hall at COMOMAG in Charleston. Turns out that Mike didn’t really have that syndrome at all. Rather it was some kind of curable spinal infection. I guess they must have gotten that from an autopsy. I never did learn. In fact, I have not been able to find a single mention of Goodparson’s syndrome, or anything like it on the net. I begin to doubt that it exisits. The closest I have come in my researches led to “Goodpasture syndrome”, which is seldom fatal, if ever. At any rate the comment which was reported to me as passing between Joe Balderrama and Gentry was something to the effect of, “We killed him.” Assuming, of course, that the reporter heard correctly.
Doubtless an overstatement, that, even so. Surely it was the docs and not they two who managed to do Mike in. But still it made for the third and final straw to me. The first had been on the Navy’s 200th birthday. I was at MMD (later MOMAG Det 10) at Naha, Okinawa at the time. The Commanding Officer of the base at Naha came to inspire us with his presence. He told us what he thought was best about the navy. Among his top ratings had been a remark about there being no misfits allowed. He catagorized these as two kinds, physical and cultural: no physical misfits (meaning criples); and no cultural misfits (meaning non-Christians...he made a kind of vague exception for Jews). I was then, and still remain, Tibetan Buddhist. So basically, my Base Commander, a full Navy captain, told me I did not belong...that in his opinion, I could not belong. A regular Archie Bunker, that captain. I tried to pass it off...then. But I have to admit it annoys me still. Today, I expect, an offical statement like that would be worth a nasty law suit. I may still have that plaque he gave me, the one to commemorate my presence in the service where I did not belong on its 200th birthday. Has his signature on it someplace. If I can dig it out of the attic, I’ll be sure and post his name here. What do you bet that total-jerk retired with full honors?
But back to straw number three... I never did blame Senior Chief as I could tell at the time that while he was going along with Gentry, he was working all the while to smooth things out as much as he could. And it wasn’t Gentry’s fault Mike got sick. But he could have treated him better. Mainly though, I decided not to trust my continued well being to navy doctors, many of whom are not even licensed.
Straw number two was that I never had very much liked Gentry anyway, since he had always had a thing against motorcycles. Wherever we went on the SLMM team, Gentry always made it a point to make it an order that I was forbidden take my bike. To Keyport, WA from Charleston, SC...sure. That made sense. But to Maryland? or even Maine? Why not?
So Gentry wasn’t one of my favorite officers. Yet he was OiC (Officer in Charge) of the SLMM team. And me, being perhaps the best technician on an exclusive six-man team, there was no way I was ever going to get out from under Gentry except to get myself clean out of the Navy. So partly on account of that, but more so on account of what had happened to Mike, that’s what I did.
It was with mixed feelings though, since I really did love my job. What with all the electronic gizmos, the gyroscopes and guidance systems, the SLMM was a pretty cool toy to play with. I enjoyed my work and got along with everyone. So was it ever a surprise when I didn’t re-up. Balderrama could hardly believe it. He told me, “I know you Starling. You’ll be back.” But he was wrong. Yes, I did have top marks in class, loved my work, made the most of certain special privileges we six had milked from being on the SLMM Tech/Eval and Op/Eval team. Senior Chief had been promoted to Warrant Officer by then, which title sailors refer to as “Gunner”. So, as I should now call him, Gunner Balderrama and the Lieutenant were so sure that neither had ever bothered to check when my contract would be due to run out. It had simply been assumed that I would make a career of it. I kept waiting for someone to pressure me with a new contract. A whole year I waited. I had to drop the news on them when it got down to less than a week. Hated to disappoint the Gunner, but wasn’t any help for that. And life has been pretty good ever since.
Additionally, it must be said that I had a further reason for not re-enlisting. I had mostly managed to avoid promotion, taking the seaman and third class petty officer tests only when told that I must do so. The politics of a small command are very like those of any small town. The smaller the issue the more folks wrangle over it. And my political skills can be measured at close to zero, a condition which persists to this very day. Now, as an engineer, I have managed to mainly only deal with gizmos, which I can always make to work as I think they should. I have no such skill with people. And this skill, which I lack, is a an important requisite of increasing military rank. I like to think I made a top notch MN3. But I would only have been a fair MN2, an even poorer MN1, and no kind of MNC at all. At least I did not think so at the time. Now I’m a well paid engineer. It has made for a pretty good career. And I have mostly to deal with things and not boss other people around. So it worked out best for me that I should try my hand at something outside the navy. I’m glad I did.
Some may remember another item of personal history and attribute some of my disillusionment there. They would be wrong. But I’ll recount it anyway, just for the record. It happened in A-school: I had gotten captain’s mast for sneaking classified study materials outside of class and into the barracks. But really, I was quite okay with that. I didn’t even hold a grudge against the fellow MN student (from a lower class) who turned me in. I had not even bothered to take note of his name. And ultimately the punishment worked all the more to my advantage. My motives for this heinous crime were as follows. The powers-that-be used study hall as a punishment. So most who were there had no wish to be. And those same powers failed to supervise the environs. So the study atmosphere was as you can well imagine. I had two choices: rat out the others by going to whine to MNCM Harder, the sign on who’s door read “HMFiC” (an un-official military acronym which I will not here explain)...or take my studies away to my room for some peace and quiet. It was taking a chance and I knew it. So when I got nailed, that was only to be accepted.
What non-navy folks may require to know is that in A-School I was top of my class (out of just nine, so don’t be too very impressed) with rather close to a 4.0 average. Two perquisites went with that: advance promotion from SA, past SN straight to MN3, and first choice of duty station. The promotion had tagged to it a one-year extension of contract. My punishment was to lose the promotion, together with the extended enlistment. By the time of my decision to get out more than two years had passed by which time I had cast aside ambition for higher rank, as I have gone into above. The point is that by then I judged the whole affair to have tilted most thoroughly in my favor. No hard feelings remained. On the contrary. Still remaining to me, after my punishment, was first pick of duty stations: 1 post for Okinawa, Japan; 2 posts for Guam, and all the rest for Charleston. Okinawa is to Japan as Hawaii is to the USA. I used up two N-th hand motorcycles in a year and a half seeing all of that island. And it’s a pretty big one. Hard feelings? I had none.
So in spite (or even perhaps because) of that, I have rather fond memories of my time in the navy. And there are some lasting effects. MN1 Leonard, also of the SLMM team, set me off on a brand new hobby. He had this CB radio, illegally modified for the ten and a half meter band (military reserve frequencies) and an illegal amplifier. The sun spots were peaking just about then; and he could talk all over the world. At first I did likewise, but then progressed to a real ham license: novice, general, and finally extra. My call sign is KY8D. So if not for Leonard, and by extension, the navy...I’d probably not enjoy that today. In fact, it almost got me a posting in the CIA. I passed their Morse code test at 20 words per minute. But after some consideration, deliberately blew the interview. I exaggerated several pre-background check confessions so as to get my no-thank-you letter. It came, sure enough. Just as well. The kind of folks they really look for, blind-faith patriots, well I’m just not one of them.
Yes, indeed...the memories. Do any minemen out there remember the great bottle rocket war? Well maybe not so great. After moving the mine shop from Naha up to Kadena on Okinawa, the minemen were settled into a barracks directly across from our rivals, the torpedomen and aviation ordinancemen. And this nightly battle somehow got started. We would each shoot bottle rockets at one another across parking lot in between. It got out of hand, and the Air Force police came to break it up. And so we combatants had to resort to desperate measures. Cigarettes were employed as time-delay fuses on bottle rockets staged from the roof. So when the Air Force cops would rush to the scene, never did they catch anyone. Then it happened that somebody fixed up a time-fuse to a double pack of fire crackers and casually dropped them into the back of the Air Force Police’s pickup trick, right in the middle of the parking lot. When those went off, the AFP packed up and left. And the Shore Patrol came in to replace them.
There was an investigation. But the culprit was never turned in. The statute of limitations is up. I confess, it was me. And who dyed Waikiki and Kuhio Beaches the most brilliant of greens with three air-sea rescue dye markers on Halloween Eve in 1977? Again, I confess, it was MN3 Ron Terry and I. And there were other, err...incidents, mostly too trivial to mention, yet amusing still to reflect upon. And still others I’ve doubtless forgotten. Mostly it was a pretty good time.
And also I have the navy to thank for my good friend, Rick Veress, whom I met in the mine force. We went to A-School together. And I knew him throughout. Rick had gotten sick of the politics at MOMAG, and cross-rated to Hull Tech (about the only rating more critically manned than MN) to get out. But they stationed him on a fast frigate at Charleston. So we still kept in touch. Four times now I have gone from Michigan down to Florida for a visit, once to be best man at Rick’s wedding to Nancy. That was over twelve years ago. And just last summer (2001), I rode motorcycle number seven down from Michigan to visit again.
So as I say, the US Navy was well worth doing...once. But I still maintain that the free medical benefits are worth about what you pay for them.
So what did I do after I got out? For six months I did grunt labor on the shipping dock of a plumbing warehouse. Then I worked for two years as an attendant nurse in a state hospital. Then I went to college on the G.I. Bill earning an AAS with Honors in electronics. From there I went straight into a salaried technician’s job at Allen Testproducts building prototypes of computerized engine analyzers for two years. After being laid off from there I worked for a year as Science Instrument Technician for the Physics Department at Kalamazoo College. They had some pretty cool gizmos too. Then I quit for a position as Final Assembly Test Engineer for PRAB Conveyors and Robotics. After three years PRAB sold off their robot line and I went to work as Engineering Development Senior Technician for a German company called Benteler Automotive. In that capacity I programmed testing machines for chassis components: axles and such.
I held onto that job for twelve years during which time I was promoted, first to Lead Technician, then finally to Test Engineer. About that time the company relocated its test lab to Detroit. After scouting around that big city I turned down the transfer accepting instead a lateral position as Advanced Manufacturing Engineer. Then came the economic downturn and my new position was cut. I have since found new work at another automotive company in Grand Rapids. It doesn’t pay quite so much; but I get to keep my house, which is paid for.
And yet more importantly, I got married to my lovely wife Karen (1988-08-08) who later gave birth to our only son Skajler (1991-03-20). I’m on my third motorcycle since the navy (seventh total) and while Lieutenant Gentry was not the worst boss I ever worked under, at least I’ve enjoyed the option to quit. I sometimes wonder whatever became of all the many other folks whom I mostly remember fondly. I hope they did well, even Gentry...in fact all of them save for that Captain (who really wasn’t a mineman at all).