1971 - Grandma At Sea

1971 – Grandma At Sea

I stood in the dark gazing down at the radar repeater. We were 1-day from arrival in San Diego and I was in CIC navigating by taking radar fixes off of mountain tops. I was returning from my 3rd and last tour to WestPac and was standing the mid-watch from midnight to 4 AM. There was very little sea traffic this far out so the atmosphere was casual with a skeleton crew in CIC with 4-hours-on & 8-hours-off instead of the condition we had been in until very recently: port & starboard or 4-on & 4-off, 24/7.

We had left the Asian theatre of action after spending 3-weeks in Hong Kong, a port I absolutely loved. I had spent the entire time off-duty except for a short stint with the Shore Patrol, playing music every night and sight-seeing or shopping every day with the girlfriend I had made during a previous stop. As this was to be our final WestPac port of consequence division parties had been planned and held starting our 2nd day in. As I was a member of the ship’s rock band we begged off duty for the first week to accommodate the several parties and, oops, someone forgot to put us back on duty. We failed to correct this oversight as we had a good excuse: we were sight-seeing and shopping. Who has time to stand watch?

Playing music was great fun as in between parties the club Playboy, no relation to the US clubs of the same name, hired us to play on the nights we didn’t have a ships-party gig. We were making a bit more cash and having fun at the same time. On those nights we were not playing for division parties we eventually gathered a following of locals which showed up throughout the evening with the greatest crowds appearing for our last two hours after midnight. After a few days we introduced ourselves to some of the locals who were late arrivals every night. These 5 guys showed up every night and sat at a table that was front center stage. They introduced themselves as local band who had been working the Hilton club for 3-years from 6-midnight. We asked why they came back every night to this off-the-beaten-track bar. They explained that they had never heard our type of music before.

Our band consisted of a lead-singer, a guitarist, a bass player (me), a drummer, a timbale player and a conga player. With three percussionists there was a lot of rhythm. We played Santana, Chicago, The Who, Black Sabbath, the Beatles and Jimmy Hendrix with both more volume and a more aggressive style than Hong Kong had previously experienced.

Their lead musician played keyboards and occasionally played flute or trumpet. Their guitar was a rhythm instrument and played very few leads. Up to that point the only western rock-n’-roll they had heard live was the Bee Gees and a limited amount of mainstream 50’s style rock and early acid rock which was in no way related to the energetic rock we were playing.

We blew ‘em away.

That was very cool and we became fast acquaintances if not friends with these fellows and toured Kowloon Island with 3 of them one day managing to see sights of which only locals were aware. Two days before we left we were visited by a local businessman who made us an offer that some of us thought hard to turn-down. The problem was it required we jump-ship and desert the Navy. He guaranteed us a paying gig in Kowloon for the next 2-years, a paycheck the multiplied our Navy pay by 500% and a paid apartment among other inducements. Although 2 of our members were advocating taking the gentleman up on this I quickly talked them out of it citing the legal problems of re-entering the US after this, possibly never seeing their families again, possibly being labeled a traitor and, even more important to me, I was getting out of the Navy upon arrival in San Diego. When I mentioned Communist China would be taking over Hong Kong in a few years, they all changed their minds.

We left Hong Kong with a head full of memories and improved stereos. This was where I picked up my Gibson EBO bass which, to this day stands guard by my bed. I upgraded my amplification as well as buying a full set of china and custom-made clothes which were out of style within the year.

As we left Hong Kong for a day in Taiwan and then and got underway for the Philippines for a day of re-supply and re-fueling. From there we preceded on to Guam for an afternoon of re-fueling and bringing on-board the gallon of liquor we were allowed to bring back duty-free. The gallon was packaged in fifths so most of us who took advantage of this by obtaining a range of different alcoholic beverages. These were stored under lock and key somewhere below decks. Next stop Hawaii.

We spent one uneventful day in Hawaii. Mostly uneventful because there was enough work to keep everyone busy most of the day with working parties loading supplies and wash-downs of exposed areas to rid the ship of crusted sea-salt. We left late in the day for San Diego which was where we were now headed and why I now found myself navigating off mountains and looking forward to arrival. I was located in a remote part of CIC which despite its small size still included areas that were rarely used. We were, like most American military ships of the time outfitted for air support as well as surface and subsurface warfare. As we specialized in submarine warfare and surface fleet protection we rarely used the air-side of CIC except during training exercises and times like this. We took advantage of the long-range ability to look over the horizon long distances which enabled us to paint the tops of the tallest mountains on the radar screen.

As I stood before the radar-repeater I felt a tap on my shoulder as if someone was quietly trying to get my attention.

Turning to see who had tapped me I didn’t see anyone apparent. I looked inside the Electronic-Warfare/Electronic-Countermeasures room which was not really more than a closet with electronic equipment attached to the bulkheads. With no one apparent I wrote it off as my imagination and went back to navigating. Almost immediately I again felt the tap. Whipping around to catch the offending party I, again, found no one. I immediately began a search for the joker who was playing with me. As we were all in a casual, joking mood I assumed this was some bored sailor’s idea of fun. I searched the ECM room again searching spots where no one could possibly fit. I looked behind all of the equipment figuring someone with an extended car-antenna was hidden somewhere in the area.

I eventually went back to my navigation, senses alert for any horseplay or trickery. After perhaps a couple of minutes I put my concerns aside and went back to work being unsuccessful in my effort to catch the prankster. I was completely engrossed when I felt the tap. I didn’t turn. I didn’t jump. I didn’t react at all as I instantly knew the origin of the tap. I was calmed and philosophical. I was certain in my conclusion.

The next day we had progressed far enough to enable a radio-telephone link to San Francisco from which we could make telephone calls home to let our loved ones know our schedule.

I called mom.

“I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news.” She said. “Which one do you want first?”

“You may as well give me the good news.” I said. “I already know the bad news.”

“No, Honey.” She replied. “You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” I replied, “Grandma died yesterday around 7:00 AM.”

Silence.

“Who have you been talking to?” She asked.

“No one…Grandma told me.” More silence. “She came to me last night and said goodbye and told me she loved me. That was just after 7:00 your time.”

I don’t actually remember much of the rest of the conversation except to comment that I am not much of a letter writer. In fact although during my time in the service I had written mom and dad only a few letters as I had relied mostly on the telephone for my main form of communication. I had only written my grandma one letter in all that time.

This and a picture of me were the only things in her hand when she died, having asked for them a few minutes before she lapsed into final unconsciousness.

Now I am one of those people who don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in spirits or demons. I don’t believe in fairies or brownies. I don’t believe in Santa or the Easter Bunny. Consequently…I really can’t explain this story. But it is true.

Some stories I can’t explain – some I can only tell.