1969 - The Yards/Damage Control

Upkeep and repair is a routine part of Navy life. It is usually a dirty, bothersome but necessary job. Sometimes for reasons both in my control and sometimes for reasons out of my control, it's not so routine.


1969 – The Yards/Damage Control School

“We’re not stopping, guys. I’m pretty sure we’re going to hit the pier.” As I said the last words an announcement came over the ship’s announcement system: “Rig for collision. Rig for collision.”

Stacked About the main deck were shells and “cans” of gunpowder. On the ASROC Deck were stacked missiles for the ASROC launcher. We were headed into the Seal Beach Ammo Pier to offload all of our ammunition and explosives in preparation to go into dry-dock the following morning. I was on the bridge standing behind the helmsman and watching our approach to the pier upon which we were to begin the offloading…next to which we should have moved slowly up to and our bumpers would gently kiss the wooden boarders of the pier as we tied up and prepared to spend the day carrying ammunition, by hand, to the stocking pallets which the Seal Beach Command would secure and store. Rumor on board was that 1 or 2 of those missiles could have been nukes…great!

I heard Mr. Weaver over the sound-powered communications system which linked the bridge with all major departments in the ship and all lookouts, “Larry sayz were goin’ ta hit the pier.” His Oklahoma accent was stronger when he was comfortable and this docking should have been the most casual thing we did all day. We were, in fact, so casual that I, an RD3, was on the bridge for the first time during entry into port and the CIC Watch Officer was manning the sound-powered telephone, both positions normally manned by one of the lowest-ranked seamen. After all, CIC had nothing to do but watch as all operations were inside our radar range. After some background commotion Mr. Weaver replied to me, “Really?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “we were flank back on the port screw and flank forward on the right just trying to get’er to twist. Now we’re back flank and the helm is full to port. Nothing is happening – no response. ” The ship, when properly handled, should have twisted around in place and moved gently toward the pier. As it was we were moving quickly forward with no indication the ship was responding at all to the helm. In this case quickly was around 2-3 knots. As we spoke, awaiting the slow-motion collision, I heard a loud SLAM! from aft the starboard wing. I ignored the noise as all of my attention was focused on the oncoming pier.

Just before we made contact the Captain took command of the ship back from the Ensign that had been commanding the approach. He did this with a quick “Aw, shit! Captain has the Conn!” He knew it would be best during the investigation if he had command rather than the log showing a rookie was in charge while the Captain was present. Everyone on the bridge that wasn’t holding on to a solid structural part of the bridge felt drawn inexorably to their knees as the mass of the rapidly slowing/stopping ship transferred part of it’s energy to the crew. A loud grinding noise began to squeal as we came to a stop in a space of around 20 feet. A personal investigation later revealed that full 10-feet of the pier had been removed/bent/deformed by the impact chewing heavy wooden support beams, steel structural beams and thick concrete. Another 10-foot had been similarly abused and chewed out of the nose of the ship. The crew members that had been manning the area near the chain locker and the main deck barely escaped damage by heeding the warning I had given to Mr. Weaver and the collision warning.

The loud slam I had heard was RD3 Bob breaking through lines that tied the outer hatch to CIC and the hatch slamming open as Bob made his way overboard. Not long before Bob’s ship, and our sister ship, The USS Evans, had been cut-in-half at the flex joint by the Melbourne, an Australian carrier, while at-sea on maneuvers during early morning hours. His time spent bobbing around in the water awaiting rescue was an event he didn’t want any part of and was determined if any ship he was on was in an accident, he would not be on board. Bob had related that when he was in the water he was surrounded by other sailors in the same predicament but was aware that in the deep darkness, if the searchlight missed him by 1-foot he would probably be left floating alone in what felt like the middle of the ocean which, for all practical purposes, he was. As he tried to escape our ship on its way through the pier, he was caught by 2 of the deck-crew who held him on the ship as he hung off the outside of the deck railings.

After retrieving and calming Bob we completed the tie-up and proceeded to unload the ammo as planned. Within a few hours we were underway for the final leg of the trip to Long Beach and “The Yards” where we would spend the next few months in dry-dock. The first project was the replacement of the nose of the ship which was manufactured complete in the yards and moved into place with a huge crane which held it in place for the 2-days while welders secured it in place.

A month later, as the Document Control Petty Officer, I made an official change to the charts indicating that, when the tide is coming in, the current in Seal Beach runs quickly through the channel and forward, under the pier, north and out. We had been caught in what could be called a ship-sized rip-tide.

Two weeks after we were safely ensconced in dry dock I was giving the task of climbing the main mast in order to do routine maintenance on the radar antenna. As I was one of the few sailors in my division that was willing to climb the mast I often got this task to perform. The climb up this 2-foot thick spar, although a little scary, was worth the climb for the view. From a vantage point far above most of the shipyard allowed me to easily see the entire port of Long Beach as well as significant parts of LA. I settled on the yardarm in preparation to scoot out a couple of feet to make my way around back of the antenna and antenna-motor to loosen a fitting and insert the grease gun when…”HEY, SAILOR!! GET THAT SAFETY BELT ON!!”

We were required to wear a thick leather belt that was secured to my waist like a too-big belt. Attached were big brass rings on opposite sides of the waist. To these were attached long ropes with hardware attached intended to secure the wearer to whatever handy structural point to which they could be attached. I yelled back, “THIS THING ALMOST TRIPPED ME UP HERE ONCE!! IT JUST GETS IN THE WAY!!”

“I DON’T CARE!! GET THAT BELT SECURED!!” I grumbled as I hooked the lines to a small diameter pipe that ran along the side of the yardarm and began scooting out the couple of feet it would require to get around to the rear of the antenna. I glanced down. My safety-watch, a seaman who’s only job was to watch my progress and keep me safe was being chewed out by our Chief Petty Officer who was giving him “what-for” with full voice. I assumed the conversation had hit on the subject of my safety-belt at least once…possibly more…probably a lot more. I ignored them and scooted forward reaching out for the support on the rear of the motor unit that drove the antenna. Unseen to me, grease had oozed from the fitting on the rear of this unit and made the fitting I usually used for support extremely slippery. As my hand grasped the unseen fitting I placed my weight on my outside leg and pulled myself forward putting the majority of my weight on the one foot assuming security by the fitting which I had to grasp. I put weight on the foot and transferred my momentum to swing myself to the rear of the motor. This was normally done in one smooth motion. As I grasped and transferred my weight the unexpectedly greasy fitting slid from my grasp and I found myself overbalanced on the one foot with no other purchase available. My hands reached out for anything available but were met with empty air. I felt myself pitch forward and noticed somewhere inside my head that the sky was incredibly blue and clear. The next view I remember was the bottom of the dry-dock – the concrete floor of which was around 120 or so feet below. I came to a hard stop dangling like a spider at the end of a web. I was only a foot or so from the mast but stopped facing away from that structure. I froze. I was afraid to move a finger until my slow spin brought the mast into view upon which I franticly reached out with both arms and gripped the structure with all my strength. The whole incident: slip, fall, dangle and grasping probably took less than 3-seconds but every moment seemed endless. When my foot touched the ladder during the wrapping of my arms and legs around the mast, I thrust it through the rung and pulled myself into a more secure feeling position on the ladder. For a few seconds I held on like I’d found a new lover. As I was only a few feet from the platform upon which the antenna & mechanics were located I quickly scrambled onto the platform and lay flat on my stomach gripping the edges of the platform with what can only be termed a “death-grip.” I took a couple of very deep breaths. Looking over the edge I saw the two sailors still in conversation about my safety belt. Shaking off the fear that controlled my limbs I grabbed one of the rags that had been brought aloft to clean any dirty or greasy fittings. Knowing that a report of the incident would be investigated, and I would undoubtedly be found responsible as deserved, I said nothing. Pulling myself to my knees I reached around the motor housing and wiped off the fitting upon which I had counted for support and balance. I would never forget to wipe-down that fitting in the future trips aloft.

I proceeded to complete the job and climb down the ladder to the waiting safety-watch. A short conversation confirmed that neither he nor our superior had noticed my fall. He got rather excited when I related my story and dispite being of a lower rank, proceeded to chew me out noting that he, too, would be in trouble if something bad had happened. He was preaching to the choir.

For some reason neither of us mentioned what this “something bad” could have been.

A year later I was enrolled in a Damage Control School in preparation for my advancement to 2nd Class or E-5. This was a 2-week class including a week of firefighting and disaster preparedness while the second week consisted of learning to weld and cut with a torch as well as learn how to make and use plugs and shore-up bulkheads.

Fire-fighting was very educational as it taught the basic requirements of a fire (heat, oxygen, fuel) in the classroom and, in practice, how to fight almost any fire, except electrical, with salt-water. We learned the value of smothering the oxygen and removing the heat by using a fine mist of water. That week we also experienced what it was like to walk around in a room full…FULL…of tear-gas. We did this both with and without gas masks. Whew! It was an exciting week!

Damage Control School was scheduled for the next week where we spent a day learning the principles behind and how to use a cutting torch and a welding rig. The following day we learned about different kinds of holes and how to plug them. The methods were a bit different, of course, if the damage was above or below the waterline. The next couple of days were spent studying and creating braces and structural supports that would serve to keep water out or maintain the structural integrity of the vessel. Friday was graduation.

Friday morning we arrived to find our 2-deck practice area ready for the exam. Our task would be to, acting as a team, repair damage, shore up damaged bulkheads and escape from our compartment into the flooded compartment directly above us. The first couple of hours we repaired the damage as previously instructed and formed specialized teams to handle the individual problems as they occurred. Finally it was time for the final graduation exercise – the escape through a flooded compartment. We were unsure of the amount of water but that was expected as in a real emergency we would only know the room was flooded, not necessarily how deeply.

We lined up with the tallest and strongest sailors at the front of the line. When the order was given the hatch was un-dogged and we prepared to enter the flooded compartment. I bent over at the waist placing my head firmly against the buttocks of the sailor directly in front of me. Everyone was in a long line leading up the ladder to the hatch where the lead-sailors awaited “the word.” We were all similarly posed in preparation for our great escape.

Upon command the men on the ladder pushed upward against the weight of the water in the flooded compartment above. As soon as a crack appeared water began to pour down and, with the help of a compartment-sized bubble, the hatch burst open and what appeared to be a solid column of water shot towards the deck. The water began to slowly fill the compartment as I shuffled forward, my head firmly placed against the butt of the sailor directly ahead of me and my hands were hanging onto his belt. The sailor behind me shuffled along poised in a similar position. As I reached the ladder and stepped into the column of water I found it was actually somewhat clear inside as the column was broken by the presence of the bodies above me. I put my foot on the first rung and felt myself flung upwards with the pressure of several sailors pushing and the sailor, now above me, pulling. As I reached the top of the ladder the belt I was holding onto was ripped from my hands and I felt hands under my armpits. The first two men out were standing one on either side of the hatch. In unison they were ducking down to grab an upcoming sailor by the armpits and flinging him across the room. I flew to their left and turned to see them flinging the next sailor in line to the right. I scrambled out of the way as the next sailor flew in my general direction. In no time at all the last sailor had arrived and the hatch was forced shut and dogged to: 1) create a buoyant “void” to assist in the buoyancy of the entire vessel and 2) so, after this exercise, we could visually see exactly how much water had flooded the lower compartment. The amount of water that had gotten through was impressive but much less than I had expected.

Early afternoon we were released back to our barracks to change and proceed back to our individual ships or shore-commands. We were wet, we were happy and we were ready for whatever the future may bring.