The Times They Are A-Changin'
By Paul Gryniewicz
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The Times They Are A-Changin'By Paul Gryniewicz |
| I joined the U.S. Navy in
September 1968. By the time I left four years later, both the Navy
and I had changed.
Looking back I can now see the effects of the Vietnam War that caused the Navy and the USS Noxubee to change. In early 1970 the Noxubee was typical of the Navy. Years of hard service were taking their toll on the ship, and the Navy was finding it difficult to find the money to cover repairs. Shortly after returning to Pearl Harbor in February 1970, the Noxubee was reassigned to the Atlantic Fleet. Since the Pacific Fleet in their desire to save money did not authorize needed maintenance following the Vietnam deployment, the attitude was that the Noxubee now belonged to the Atlantic Fleet so they should pay for the maintenance. As a result, while in transit to Little Creek, Virginia, the Noxubee suffered a major engineering breakdown and spent three days adrift in the Caribbean Sea while the crew struggled to make repairs.
By the early 70's, not only were teen-aged hippies anti-establishment, but so were the majority of middle-aged Americans. New people brought that attitude with them into the Navy. Instead of just blindly following orders with an "Aye, Aye Sir," enlisted men and junior officers and that includes myself, began to ask why. The usual rumors and grumbling of military life took on a new reality. "Official" statements were often taken as distortions. You knew you could not trust what you were told. No longer were people joining the Navy to escape Vietnam. The draft was ending; the Navy had to transform itself into a truly volunteer organization.
Bob Dylan was right, "The Times They Are A-Changin'." Were they good changes? I know what I think, but I leave it up to you to decide for yourself.
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 Al Sabourin (left) and me 1969 |
 Jim Van Sant (left) and me 1971 |
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Cold War OpsBy Paul Gryniewicz |
| Shortly after returning to
Pearl Harbor from West Pac in February, 1970, the Noxubee received
orders to her new homeport of Little Creek, Virginia. I guess the
war in Vietnam was winding down and AOG's were no longer needed
there so Noxubee was ordered back to the Atlantic. I was at Great
Lakes attending Gunners Mate "A" School at the time so I
missed the cruise to the East Coast via the Panama Canal. I always
thought that it be fun to go through the Canal. I was sorry I missed
my chance. But Noxubee never stayed in one place very long and on
December 28, 1970 we steamed out of Chesapeake Bay and set our
course due east to join the 6th Fleet in the Mediterranean.
Every once in while we had some excitement, especially when we
got directly involved in the Cold War. One time in June, 1972 we
were enjoying liberty in Villafranche, on the French Riviera when
orders came down to head to the opposite side of the Med. Off we
went to the Gulf of Salum on the Libyan-Egyptian boarder. We were on
a one month's mission to keep an eye on the Soviet
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Noxubee's Tank Deck BandBy Paul Gryniewicz
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During our first cruise to the Med in 1971 Noxubee was given the
assignment of keeping the Russian Navy under surveillance. So in
April, 1971 we were steaming in circles in the Gulf of Salum with
the USSR's Mediterranean Fleet at anchor and under our watchful eye.
Every day at sunset the flagship, the Sevodva, would hold evening
colors on the fantail. The lowering of the Russian flag was done
with exact military precision complete with a band in full dress
uniform playing the Soviet national anthem.
Band members both officers and enlisted in the best "can do" spirit of the Navy stepped up to the challenge and took up an instrument and began to play. Now this was defiantly a mixed bag of musical talent. A few were accomplished musicians and played drums, banjo and the guitar on a regular basis. Most however, were a scratch team of former high school and collage marching band members who had not touched an instrument in years. Without music they had to play by memory. But details like that could not stop them.
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Life Aboard an AOGby Paul Gryniewicz
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| Life aboard an AOG meant that
you had to get your sea leg quickly. If you didn't you soon found
yourself in deep trouble.
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Unrepby Paul Gryniewicz
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I securely tie on my life jacket making certain no straps are
hanging loose. Next I put on my red helmet and take my station on
the focsle inside the gun tub of Mount 31. I double-check my gun to
see that it is loaded and ready. Then I standby, awaiting my orders
from the First Lieutenant. Looking around, I see everyone else on
deck in wearing life jackets and colored helmets -- green for the
signalman, blue for line handlers, brown for winch operators, yellow
for the rig captain, and white for the Chief Boatswain Mate and
First Lieutenant. Standing next to me is "Doc," with his
white helmet with a red cross. The "burtoning" rig is set
with fuel hoses and is ready to go. Each crewman on the focsle is at
his assigned station. The Chief gives everything and everyone one
last check. He clearly and loudly "coaches" his deck gang,
"OK guys heads up! Just don't stand there with your head up
your ass. Stand clear of the @#$% riggin'. When I say move you
better @#$% move." The First Lieutenant reports to the
bridge that all is ready.
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Flight OpsBy Paul Gryniewicz
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| The CO called down from the
bridge "Hey Polack, check the next load. If it's ham dump it
over the side!" For awhile during the '72 Med Cruise just
about the only re-supply we were getting was canned ham of Korean
War vintage. We ate ham for breakfast, ham for lunch, ham for dinner
and ham for mid-rats for weeks on end. I picked up my paddles and
began to signal the approaching CH-46 and directed it to place the
cargo net of provisions right in the middle of Noxubee's flight
deck. Maybe we would get lucky and this load would be steak.
Now you might be saying what flight deck? After all Noxubee was built long before helicopters began wide spread operations. There were no large flat open spaces anywhere on the ship. Our flight deck was a wide spot on the focsle between the lifelines and anchor windlass and Mount 31. The confined area surrounded by the gun mount, ready service lockers, anchor chain and windlass made for challenging working conditions for a LSE. A LSE 's job was to "park" a helicopter in flight, usually a CH-46, just over the flight deck by directing its approach and position so that cargo or personnel could be transferred. An LSE has to know when it is safe to pick up or let down a load, or when to tell the pilot to go around and try again. A bad call by the LSE could cause grave harm to himself, the helicopter, and ship. On the Noxubee this was especially true because of the small cluttered space we called a flight deck. The space was just barley wide enough for two pallets. A few inches one way and the cargo would miss the deck and go over the side. A few inches the other way and the cargo would smash into Mount 31. In September 1971, Ens. Bill Airo, DC3 Dennis Piester, SN Boyd Driggers, SN John Seaman, SN Harry Robertson and myself received orders to Flight Ops training with Helicopter Support Squadron Six at the Norfolk Air Station. It was an intensive four days of helicopters and their operations. Most of my time was spent learning to direct helicopter for day and night launches and recoveries. We also trained in personnel transfers to and from a hovering helicopter. Each of us had the chance to be the transferee while a classmate directed the helicopter. We experienced first hand the thrill of dangling on the end of a cable, in mid-air under the helicopter. On the following Med cruise we put our newly learned skills into practice. Frequently, we were re-supplied by helicopter, a vertrep. Usually it took place when we were anchored with the amphibs and the USS Slyvania or other ship from the 6th Fleet would meet us to re-supply the task force. The focsle would be cleared of all personnel except the six of us. Dennis Piester was in his fire-fighting gear ready for a crash. The rest of us worked with the CH-46. I directed the helicopter with hand paddles to the best spot above the "flight deck" and signaled it to clear the lifelines and to gently place the cargo net slung underneath the helicopter on deck. Once over the ship, I did not signal the pilot directly. He could not see me so I signaled to a crewman who was laying on his stomach looking out a small hatch in the deck. He in turn relayed my directions to the pilot. After the cargo was placed on deck I signaled the crewman to release the net and waved the CH-46 off to get another load. The rest of the flight deck crew unrigged the cargo net and a working party came up from below and man-handled the cargo off the focsle. The process was repeated several times until all the cargo was aboard. Our flight deck crew would bundle up the cargo nets and pallets and while the helicopter hovered hook them up so they could be returned to the supply ship. By the way, the next load wasn't steak. But then we never went hungry either. |
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At the same time the nation came
to the realization that the war in Vietnam was hopeless and most of
what the government was telling its citizens it was a lie.
Newspapers reported government-issued body counts as if they were
reporting a ball game. Television for the first time was showing the
nation the reality of war with all of its suffering and corruption.
The U.S. was no longer seen as a kindly big brother. Instead it had
become the neighborhood bully as atrocities were plastered all over
the news. No wonder anti-military, anti-authority attitudes swept
the nation.
There were major race riots
aboard some ships. Drug and alcohol usage was rising to new levels.
Some no longer took pride in the Navy or their ships. At the same
time we were reluctant to wear their uniforms off the ship. We
preferred to blend into the civilian population and not stand apart
from it as we shared the anti-establishment feelings with the
civilian population. The age of the ships and reduced maintenance
began to show. Senior Officers, Chiefs and enlisted men who took
pride in their service felt threatened by what they saw as a lack of
discipline in the junior ranks and general deterioration of material
conditions.
It always seemed to me that the
Noxubee was a part of the Navy but never entirely in the Navy. The
ship operated independently and at a different pace than the
mainstream Navy. So while turmoil was rampant elsewhere, the Noxubee
was spared any major confrontations. Noxubee continued to be what it
always was, a hard-working ship with a good crew. Yet slowly life on
the Noxubee was changing with the times. With the CO's approval, an
underground newspaper called the "BLURP" published
anti-war and anti-establishment stories. "WAOG, Radio Free
Mapubee" piped music throughout the ship. One of the things I
first noticed was frequent pay increases. I could afford a car and
park it on base. For the first time we had civilian clothes on ship
and could wear them on liberty. But the Navy did not provide any
additional locker space. That did not stop us, and somehow we all
had civies. Longer hair, beards and sideburns were allowed.
In the Med our mission was quite a bit different then it was in
Vietnam. Our primary task was to support the 6th Fleet Amphibious
Force, Task Force 61. in the early 1970's the Cold War was going
strong and the Marines on the amphibs would conduct joint landing
exercises with various NATO countries all around the Med. TF 61
would anchor in some remote bay in Spain or Greece for example and
the Marines would practice thier art of amphibious assault. While
this was going on Noxubee would tie up along side the amphibs and
top them off with fuel. We traveled back and forth from NATO bases
like Cagliaria, Sardinia and Suda Bay, Crete to take on our cargo of
fuel oil then go meet the amphibs at where ever they might be.
Occasionally we would meet up with a destroyer and refuel them while
underway. For the majority of the six months we were in the Med our
day-to-day operations were a routine of sea details, equipment
maintenance, drills and watches.
Mediterranean Fleet . If they got underway we were to shadow them. I
always found this a little strange because here we were an old,
slow, small tanker trying to keep pace with cruisers, destroyers,
and frigates. The Soviets ships were the "A-team" armed
with surface to surface missiles, guns of all calibers and more than
capable of steaming at over 30 knots. Noxubee could only do 14 knots
on her best day and that was in a favorable sea. One time the
Soviets pulled up their anchors and steamed out of the Gulf in
formation at 30 knots. They knew we were there to shadow them so
they would steam off over the horizon out of visual site but close
enough so that we could still maintain radar contact. The Soviets
would then slow down and wait for us to catch up and repeated the
process over and over again as we all cruised about the Med. They
could shake us anytime they wanted to but they usually let us dog
them for a couple of days.
One memorable time the Soviets waited for us to come up from behind
and let us steam right through the middle of their formation. That
put us out in front of them. The CO got on the radio and in exchange
for a case or two of scotch whiskey persuaded the pilot of a
circling P3 Orion take our picture. At The same time he had the
signalmen raise the "follow me" pennant. There we were, in
all our nautical splendor, the Noxubee at the head of the USSR's
Mediterranean Fleet. I don't know if that photo still exists but it
would be fun to see it.
The USS
Noxubee (AOG-56) is a small fleet gasoline oiler
designed to transport and deliver clean petroleum
products as a unit of the mobile support group. In the
Sixth Fleet the AOG also provides limited underway
replenishment of complete petroleum products to the
fleet at sea.
The USS Noxubee
contributed generously to the furtherance of Sixth Fleet
people to people program by he highly laudable port
visit record.
Following her overhaul, Noxubee returned to the
Mediterranean where she again is operating with the
Sixth Fleet. Our Navy's congratulations to this fine
ship and crew.
Well we were not to be outdone. Within days the Noxubee "Tank
Deck Band" made its debut. From somewhere deep in the cargo
hold a set of brass instruments including a tuba, a trumpet, and a
trombone appeared. Added to that was a guitar, a banjo and a couple
of buckets for a drum set and we had a band that was unmatched in
the annals of the Cold War. All that was lacking was sheet music.
Each evening at sunset we would steam as near as we dared to the
Russian Flagship and strike up the Noxubee band. It was a concert
reminiscent of my son's seventh grade band recitals. I don't recall
what the "Tank Deck Band" played but since they had no
sheet music it probably was a combination of country western, rock
and roll, and Suza marches. I know the Russian Commander had to have
been impressed with the musical talent the band displayed.
Unfortunately, after just two or three days of our band's
performances the Russians decided that their band could not compete
with ours and got underway. That put an end to the evening concerts.
Sadly, as quickly as it started the 'Tank Deck Band" broke up.
They never to performed for a Soviet audience again.
AOG's were
wide flat-bottomed vessels and tended to roll in almost any kind of
sea, If it was not dead calm an AOG just rolled and rolled. Full or
empty it did not make much difference. Often the ship rolled even if
we were anchored in a harbor that was not to well protected from the
wind and sea. It seemed there was no escape from rolling. A soon as
the seas picked up a little bit walking became a chore. I remember
how my arms and shoulders ached from bouncing off the bulkheads as I
made my way around the ship. Sleeping was often difficult because it
was hard just to stay in my bunk and not roll out Eating was next to
impossible as you, your food and anything else that was loose slid
back and forth. It seemed that I could never completely relax. You
always had make sure you braced yourself.
Then there was the constant soaking. There was no way to travel the
length of the ship below decks. To get around you always had to
cross the open tank deck catwalk. That meant that even in port if
you wanted to get forward or aft and it was raining you got wet.
Underway in a heavy sea you had to time your dash across the tank
deck so as not to get soaked by a crashing wave. In very bad weather
a lifeline had to be rigged so you had something to hold on to while
crossing the tank deck. I know of more than one member of the
Operations Dept. (their berthing and work areas were forward) who
lived on candy bars and soda pop during foul weather just so they
could stay dry by not having to make the trip aft to the mess decks.
Just for fun many of us would stand on the 01 deck out of the
weather and make bets on who would get soaked the most coming
across.
With a full load aboard the tank deck was only 30 to 36 inches above
the waterline. In any kind of a sea even a slight roll would cause
water to flood the main tank deck and run aft and crash into the
bulkhead. I learned quickly that fueling hoses and other gear had to
be securely lashed down to keep it from being washed over the side.
The catwalk was 8 feet above the main deck and spray from the water
crashing about both sides of the tank deck would soak anyone trying
to cross.
A destroyer, USS Damato, slowly comes up from astern along our
starboard side. She takes station less then 100 feet from us with
her ASROC deck abeam our focsle. The Med between the two ships
begins to boil up. A wave smacks the destroyer amidships and soaks
some of her line handlers. As soon as she is in position, I get the
signal from the First Lieutenant. I give a long, loud blast on my
whistle. The Damato's crew takes cover and replies with two whistle
blasts. I raise my line-throwing gun and take aim, pull the trigger
and fire a rubber tipped plunger-like projectile. Attached to the
projectile is a bright orange nylon line. The line streaks out of
its holder as the line sails over the Damato's ASROC deck. Her crew
quickly recovers the line and begins to haul away. At the same time,
our deck crew takes the shot line and attaches it to a messenger
line. Our signalman raises his paddles and begins to
"talk" to the Damato. Soon a fueling rig from Noxubee is
attached to the destroyer. (I'll leave it to a Boatswain Mate to
describe the details of this rig and its operation.) Bravo pennants
are hoisted on both ships and Navy Special Fuel Oil begins to flow.
While the rig is being transferred, I carefully make my way off the
focsle, staying clear of the rigging and gear about the deck. Once
safely inside the Ops Compartment, I take off my helmet and life
jacket and make my way up to the bridge. It is crowded and, unlike
most other times underway, the atmosphere is tense. The CO is not
sitting in his captain's chair. Instead he has himself anchored next
to the pelorus on the starboard wing of the bridge. He keeps a close
eye on the distance between the two ships, the fuel rig, and the
weather. Nothing escapes his attention. The XO is standing by the
radio, ready to talk to the Damato. The OOD is constantly on the
move between the CO on the bridge wing and the pilot house, checking
course and speed. The Quartermaster is busily at work at the chart
table, plotting our course and keeping the log. The leehelmsman is
at the EOT standing by to signal speed changes to the engine room. A
talker who is wearing sound-powered phones is standing out on the
brige wing, relaying messages to and from the CO and OOD. The
Boatswain Mate of the Watch is doing is best trying to stay out of
the way. No one is talking unless it's necessary to carry out his
job. I approach the OOD and ask, "Permission to relieve the
helm, sir?" "Very well" is his response.
I take my
position behind the helmsman and observe the course, amount of
rudder he is using, and how he is handling the wheel. When I am
ready I say, "I am ready to relieve you," the
helmsman answers, "Steering course 265 using 2 degrees left
rudder." I repeat back, "Steering course 265 using
2 degrees left rudder." He moves away and I take my place
at the wheel. I sing out, "Polack has the helm." I
don't look at anything but the gyro repeater in front of me. I keep
the lubber's line on 265, using only enough rudder to stay on
course. My sole objective is to stay on 265. No clicks of the
repeater left or right. Noxubee and the destroyer are doing 12
knots. Fast for us and slow for them, but even at that speed that
means a swing of 20 feet per minute for every degree off course. At
that rate more than a couple of degrees to starboard and we bounce
off the side of the Damato. A swing to port and the fuel rig parts
and lines go flying around both ships. In either case, damage to the
ships and injury and death to crew members is a likely result. But
today is another good day. The Med is calm and the winds are light.
I hold on 265 as if the lubber's line is glued to it. Noxubee's wake
is as straight as Interstate 80 through Nebraska.
The Damato reports
she is topped off. The CO gives the command to secure pumping, the
bravo pennants come down on both ships, and the deck crew hauls the
fuel rig back aboard. You can hear the rumble of the Damato
increasing speed, and she pulls away, turning to starboard and heads
off on her mission. We maintain our course and speed. You could
almost feel the tension on the bridge dissipate as the CO gives the
word to secure. The Boatswain Mate of the Watch gets on the 1MC and
announces, "Now secure the underway replenishment detail on
deck Watch Section 2." Shortly I pass control of the helm
to my relief and go back down to the focsle and collect my gear.
Just another job done on just another cruise.
