All good things must come to pass and since Obama hasn’t seen fit to bail me out personally, I’ll be closing it down. I’ll be calling the phone company to have my land line turned off and with it, the website.
I’ll be posting all my work on Myspace and I’m on facebook too. Everything I’ve posted on this site will have been printed up and put into my personal Tome. We all have to cut back somewhere and it’s too cold here in the winter to have my gas turned off.
During one of the last sessions, I was asked what I wanted to do. I could no longer be a Radioman, but I could return to the fleet as something. Or, I could be discharged with or without further treatments. I told them I definetly wanted out, but I wanted out, fixed. He told me I’d be transfered to the Philadelphia Naval Hospital where I’d be counciled more and then discharged.
The day of the big event started out as a bunch of us nutjobs stood along the curb waiting for the bus in our pj’s. There were 20 or so of us going, with some on stretchers. The ones on the stretchers were loaded up with some “Good fuckin’ times”, which I later learned was Thorazene. The boys on those stretchers were so far gone, they couldn’t handle being concious. The rest of us pretty much had our shit together and we were playing it to the hilt. Picking invisible insects off each other, smelling other peoples armpits, and smiling nice to the civilians.One guy could drool on command and droop one eye. There were corpsmen everywhere with us and they enjoyed fucking with the civies as much as the rest of us.We were eventually transported using a Navy bus, so unless we were dragging our tongues across the windows, we rode in quiet.
We were all loaded on a MAC flight, (Military Airlift Command) with those on stretchers first, and then the rest of us in seats facing aft. It was one of those fancy passenger jets with the engine in the back. We even had some nice looking Wave corpsman too, which helped a lot. One might think that a few women among a shitload of horndogs would raise all kinds of hell, but the effect is the opposite. We all went out of our way to keep it civil and weren’t any more trouble than the poor dudes on the stretchers. We were rewarded by having a pilot that got busted for something that took him out of fighters. While we were taxiing across the tarmac, he said “as long as most of his riders were unconcious, and the rest crazy, he might as well have a fun ride”. The Corpsmen gave it away when they ran to their seats and straped themselves in. Once the front tires came off the runway, this dude nailed it and pointed it straight up. When we came to about 30,000′, he rolled it over and came to level flight. From there he flew around as many thunderheads as he could bank around and landed at Valley Forge in Pennsylvania. There, they offloaded a couple stretchers and the drooler. From there we flew to Kennedy International and I got to see what humanity can do to good clean air. It was a deep blue sky until we got near New York, and as we flew closer we could see the yellow get deeper and I had no problem at all not getting off. From there we flew to an airport in Maine where I got to see something that wasn’t there. As we taxied down towards the terminal, where we’d eat lunch, we rolled by a U2 in it’s hanger. The Captain came on the PA and said that plane wasn’t there, and you didn’t see it. No one would have believed us anyway, we were all crazy. Lunch came in a box and tasted like it and we were soon on our way to Fort Dix, New Jersey.
Near as I can tell, Dix is sevearal square miles of concrete with a few buildings in the middle of it.The plane almost pulled up to the door of the hospital we spent the night at. Ft Dix I think is/was the military’s primary airport for international flights because we spent the night with some seriously fucked up people, and they weren’t sailors. We were told we’d be spending the night there and bused to Philadelphia the next day. The chow hall was open 24 hours and the food was terrific. Other than us sailors, the rest were coming back from Korea, and a some of them were shell shocked. I asked one of the more normal ones how that could come about and he said anyone who believes the shooting war in Korea is over, is a fool.
On the ride from Dix to Phily, I watched a trailer tire decentagrate and I noted that there wasn’t any open land between Fort Dix and Phily. It was constant houses for what seemed like a long ride and most of the riding around here is country. The lot of us were admitted into the hospital, and shown to our ward, where me met some of the staff. The corpsman were numbered at a lower ratio of 1 for 2 patients, but we were all well along the way of being humans again. We were getting to the point where we were making up stories to keep the shrinks happy because the living was so good.
If we didn’t make the doctors happy, we could end up in the rubber room. Our’s wasn’t rubber per se, but totally mattress lined, including the ceiling. Any type of civil misbehavoir could land you in there, but those that were, deserved it. There were several there that had fits of agression and we’d listen to them yell and scream all night long. Eventually they’d settle down, or pass out and we’d all go to sleep. There were a couple guys there who’d spend a week being concious enough to get a shot of something and then sleep until the next one. I never asked what they’re problem was, I had my own.
We had a Nurse, a Ltjg, who appreared to be dipping into the pillbox because we’d watch her beautiful ass dip back and forth as she’d bounce off one wall, and then the other, all the way down the hall. She had a glazed happy smile on her face all the time and she was as sweet as maple syrup. She never did anyone harm, but everytime she walked by we’d smile and say Thorazene.
We didn’t have to stay in the ward to get fed; we were given wristbands that acted as a meal ticket and you could get free drinks in the local bars. If we weren’t scheduled for a therapy, we were free to roam the hospital and it’s grounds, and a week later, we could go on liberty.
One afternoon as I was walking down a hallway, I could hear laughing going on with a lot of “Hoooah!” along with it. I went down the other hallway and watched as a bunch of amputee’s racing down the hallways on their wheelchairs, and giving each other all kinds of shit. Semper Fi.
Not long after I was given libery rights, I went with a buddy to a neighborhood bar somewhere in Phily. The entire neighborhood was residentual with a bar or two on the corner. I wish I could remember the bar name..damn…. Anyway, word had it, if you wore your uniform and the wrist band, a Phily steak sandwich and a beer were on the house. This guy was good for his word and everyone who frequented the place was just as nice to us as any I’ve ever met. If we played three Frank Sinatra songs in a row on the juke box, he’d give us an extra beer. I got to talk to all the people there about the war, fishing, kids, being a kid, not being a kid anymore, all kinds of shit, and it did me a world of good.
From there I was transfered to the Naval Base proper and 10 days later was issued my DD-214 and thrown into the unmilitary world of civilianship. I was awarded at 30% disability status and drew a check for three years. On the day of it’s arrival I’d act especially crazy, but now I do it for free.
The ride to the hospital held many firsts for me: First time in an ambulance, first time I got to hear the siren from the inside, and the first time I’d try to kill myself. I’d been thinking about doing myself in for over a year and would spend hours figuring the best way to do it. Spending months at sea, one might figure to jump over the side, but that’s abandoning ship and something that I’d never do unless ordered. I thought a lot of using a weapon but I’d seen too much carnage to wish the clean up on someone else. I’d read somewhere that the heart couldn’t pump air and that a bubble in the vein would travel to the heart and it would quit working. Along that line, I optained a large hypodermic needle that was used in the antenna cleaning process. That I kept with me close, in case things got real bad. I opted to use drugs that I hiested from my dad while I was home on the last leave. It turned out those drugs wouldn’t have accomplished what I’d planned, but it got me in front of a shrink. He and I spoke for a while and I told him of my lifestyle over the last two crusies and he asked me if I had feelings of killing someone else besides my thoughts on suicide and I told him Hell No. I had, but not to the point where I’d paid off the fantail overboard watch, but that was a group effort, not just mine. He told me to take the rest of the day off and sent me back to the barracks.
When I reported on the ship the next day, I was told that my security clearance had been withdrawn and I was to report to the PAO (Public Affairs Office) for duty. The office was next to the post office and as far off the beaten path as they could find.
That night a few of the guys stopped by and we talked of having a Mental Health Night that evening. One of the guys had been attending AA meetings all during the week, but they don’t serve alcohol at those things. So, we decided in helping our stressed-out shipmate, we’d gather together occasionaly and get ripped to the gills. The guys figured I could use one and it’d been days since we’d gotten together. I was given orders that I was not to communicate with any Radioman onboard, but they didn’t say anything about while ashore. With a bottle of Wild Turkey and one of Haig & Haig Pinch, we spoke of the merits of life, and the bennies of death. As you can imagine, I didn’t make any converts and it turned out to be my last Mental Health Night with my shipmates.
The next day I was transported back to the Portsmouth Naval Hospital and admitted into the psyc ward. The hospital was constructed before the civil war and I had the honor of living in the same building. The ceilings were 12′ high with open wards taking up entire wings. I’d seen pictures of this place from a history text I’d had a couple years before, but these guys didn’t have missing limbs or dying from the flu.And it didn’t have barred windows lining both sides of the wards, or the hallways. At the end of one of these hallways was a large steel door with a small barred window, and a keyboard on the wall. This type of entrance I was quite familiar with and even the sign: “Authorized Personell Only” didn’t bother me. When they opened the door and I saw a room full of nut job’s, that got my attention.
There were 20 or so of us, and during regular hours, half that many corpsmen. None of us were there because of dangerous behavoir to others, so it was very safe. Had I spoken to the doctor of what I was going to do with Cheif Hawkins body, my buddies might have been quite different. All ages were represented as well as the Marine Corps. The Marines were the ones I ended up feeling the sorriest for, but I’ll get back to that later. When I walked in, they all looked over and nodded and went back to doing whatever it was they were doing, and I was led to a desk. One of the corpsman was seating me when I heard the door mechanism lock, and watched me as all the demons exited with it. I immediatly asked him “if that meant that those outside couldn’t get in?” “Is there anyone on that ship that could come get me and take me back?” The corpsman said “he heard that a lot and that I was absolutly safe”. The feeling was unbelievable and it wasn’t until I momentarialy died years later that I felt it again.
After some more questions I was given my pj’s and shown which bunk was mine. He said I was required to clean under it each morning and could sleep in the bed, only at night. During the day I could sleep on it, and he said I should give it a try. I slept except to clean under my bunk once a day, stand at attention once for a meeting with the Admiral, ate twice a day, and used the facilities, for four days straight. On the first morning after swabbing under my bunk, we were told there was going to be a “Grand Tour” or some such crap with an Admiral leading.
Evidently, my mom didn’t take my attempted suicide very well, and she immediatly wanted to know what the fuck was going on. Mom decided the President was busy I guess, because she called the Secretary of the Navy and had a very vocal, one sided conversation with a series of of people and ended up with the Chief of Naval Operations. Admiral Zumwalt can be considered the boon or bane of Naval History, but personally, I got to meet the Commanding Officer of the hospital. Everyone looked pretty nervous before, during and after this encounter so I’m figuring he don’t do it often. I’d dealt with high ranking officers for two years and a room full of Captains and Commanders didn’t impress me a whole lot. The group started on the other side of the ward and he shook their hand and smiled and moved on quickly until they got to me. He asked me to tell him about my life onboard so I gave him the short story of what I went through. He asked me if there was anything he could do for me and I said “I’d like to sleep for a couple more days and then get some beer”. He said to go back to bed and look forward to the beer. With that, they continued around down the line and back out the door and everyone watched as I went back to bed.
A couple days later I felt well enough that I wanted to get up and around, and went to one of the group therapies. One of the great things about group therapy is you find out how crazy you ain’t. I lived with a bunch of crazy motherfuckers, but I wasn’t one of them. Well, they were crazier than me. There was one American Indian that had a real problem with staying alive. He was sure he’d crossed the line somewhere and the only honorable way out was to do himself in. We had a Jesus Christ and I guess every group in there has at least one. He was a very peacefull kid who spent a lot of time staring out the window looking for his DAD.
Several of them were manic depressent and a few of us were Obsessive Cumpulsive, plus mine was with Self Deprecating Behavoir. A couple times a day we’d all break into groups and have conversations about what we’d been through and talk about the problems we were having.
Inbetween these meetings, we’d play chess, or ping pong, read or assemble puzzles with each other or with the corpsmen. If the corpsmen weren’t interacting with the patients, they were setting at a desk writing down observations, and they were always observing. I was having a chess match with another patient when I got blindsided by a lunch truck and those that weren’t making sure I wouldn’t go ballistic, were writing about it on the sidelines. Me being somewhat of a fast reader, and knew how to get around security issues, read my own chart once. I learned alot doing that.
The other meetings I had where with the psychiatrists and I never met a quack in the bunch. One of them told me that most cases can be diagnosed within the first ten minutes and everything after that is profit. Those guys weren’t there for the profit, they knew they’d be making that soon enough and in the meantime, they were going to help as many people as they could. Once I found out they couldn’t speak of the security issues that had prevented me from talking to anyone else about it, were were able to, and their help was immense.
The Marines where there for the usual gamut of behavoirs but they weren’t immune to “Out there”. Some of these guys were messes, but the SP’s would show up at the door and the Marines would have to go stand in inspection. They had a line of mental nutcases standing amongst them but they were all there. Had they carried out what they’d spoke of during therapy
After a week or so, I was given the opportunity to move to the “open ward” but to do so would require work and responsibility. They never held it against anyone that was willing to stay but I’d had enough of that place. “Too many crazy people in there” for me.
The ward was the same size, with the same amount of patients, but we could come and go as we pleased. Pleased being able to work all day and have visitors in the evenings. My first assignment was with the ambulance service and I’d help people go from the main hospital to the various outbuildings the hospital had. The Oncology department wasn’t attached to the living portion, so we’d transport them. On the second or third day, I was on the back end of a gurney and released the locks on the legs before I had hold of the gurney sides. This poor old lady dropped like a rock, right on her noggin that was about to get zapped. Right after that I was transported to the Services Department and ran a Masher in the Laundromat. This device is large enough to accecept a Kind sized sheet and press it, or any clothes that needed pressing. That was one hot assed job, but I loved it. I got to carry on conversations with the ladies that worked there and it helped moving back into humanity.
Butch came over as well as a lot of the guys from the ship and talked about life there and what was going on with the families. We talked a lot about different cruises and liberty ports but nothing about the ships operations. I was no longer someone who had the need to know so there was little we could discuss. One of my shipmates was married to a nice lady who’d come and visit a couple times a week, but besides Butch that was my extent of excitement. I did spend one afternoon in the hospitals cemetary where I saw some very old and historical headstones. There was a sailor who fell from atop the mainmast to the deck on the USS Constitution, many Civil War stones, and a LOT of deaths from the flu epidemic in 1918. It was a quiet and peaceful piece of property surrounded by future patrons.
A couple weeks later, I was given orders to report to the Philadelphia Naval Hospital for further treatment and honorable discharge, which I’ll write about next…
Everyone has a point they may come to where a decision is made if they still want to live beyond this day. For me it happened on a mid-watch while routing messages in Maincomm.
I looked down at the message and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where it went or if I even cared. I left the ship, walked to the barracks and downed a buttload of pills. When I was sure they were all swollowed, I called the Operations Office on the ship and told Lt. Commander Brandon what I’d done. I thought it fitting at the time, that the man who’d helped create my situation would be the dude I told.
I come from a Catholic/Lutheran upbringing and geneticly, a German with Scot and French/Odawa Indian as a buffer. I have the work ethic of a Krupp employee who’s looking forward to busting his ass on a Monday morning. The Kamradts are full of these people and I’m sure all their employees benifited from it.
The Navy certainly did. Our deployments were 6 months long and during those cruises, I worked 16 hours of every day at sea. That leaves 8 hours for sleeping, eating, and poker, unless your relief doesn’t show up. Then you spend those 8 hours in Radio Central because there’s only one other person on the ship that can do it. There were two or three instances where I spent 96 hours on watch without releif. I’d plead sometimes to get an officer in there so I could leave long enough to take a shit. During General Quarters Drills, I was the ships High Speed Code Operator, so I manned the CW circuit. Then there were the activities that were going on around us. For a couple month period we were in the Eastern Med, watching the Palistinians and the Hebrews go at it with Soviet bombers flying overhead all day. There was a lot more going on then than I can ever talk about, but at the time, I was reading as much as I could get my eyes on. The problem with that was once I went off watch, the information stopped. The ship had two watch sections, or shifts, and you couldn’t divulge what you’d read or heard on that watch (or time period) to the other watch section. So what I’d do, is to join the other watch section and work their shift too. Radio Central was covered so I could spend my time working in broadcast/ship-shore circuits. I’d help out finding clear frequencies and read broadcast all shift. During the period when Cairo almost disapeared from the face of the Earth, I was there reading it.
Sleeping became such an issue that I’d fall asleep standing in line for a meal. There were many times I’d wake up to the sound of “Secure the Chow Line”, and walk back up to Central.
Then of all things, I was sent to “Ditto Repair School” so there would be an onboard repairman for all the duplicators. Of the four of us who went to school, I was the only one who passed, and I aced the exam. Those fuckers knew what they were doing because I ended up getting screwed real good. During the periods when I would get to bed, I’d get woke up to go fix one of the duplicating machines. Often times, the plug would have been pulled, or the “ON/OFF” switch was placed in the “OFF” position.
I guess it was no suprise that I was burned out, but my work ethic admonished me for being so incompetitant. I was a firm believer in culling out the weak and I was a prime example of what to get rid of. I had myself in a real funk by the time I started on that mid-watch, and it ended when I heard the Psyc ward door lock.
Next edition: Rubber Room Ramada
