“From Deck to Shore: A Sailors Journey Remembered”

Chapter One -  Reporting for Duty

It was May of 1966 when my life took a sharp turn. I stood at the Navy induction center on Ponce de Leon Avenue in Atlanta, Georgia-late. The recruiters, none too impressed, suggested I return the next day. But I told them I had no way back home. I had already said my goodbyes, tied up my loose ends, and there was no turning around now.

That morning the center had already sent off its full quota of recruits to Great Lakes for boot camp. So, by twist of fate, myself and two other boys from Georgia were put on a different path. Instead of heading north to the cold winds off Lake Michigan, we were senT west, bound for San Diego, California.

We landed just after midnight. As we stepped off the plane, there he was-Art Linkletter, the famous radio and television personality-walking through the terminal like it was just another day. For us, it felt like a strange omen, a brush with a world we were about to leave behind. Soon we spotted an old Grey bus, waiting silently to carry us to the Naval Training Center. They gave us racks to sleep in, but at 4 a.m. the first reality of Navy life struck: a rude awakening. Off we stumbled toward the chow hall-more of a shuffle than a march. The doors weren't even open yet. As we waited, I saw my first "Mickey Mouse unit." Dixie cup hats Turned down, dungarees tucked into socks, blue chambray shirts buttoned up tight to the throat. I remember thinking, What on earth have I gotten myself into?

 Boot camp rolled by in a blur. Haircuts. Civilian clothes boxed up and sent home. Sea bags issued and stuffed with uniforms. Stenciling our names and service numbers onto every piece of gear. Learning our general orders, our marching drills, our square knots, Washing uniforms by hand, hanginG Them with clothes stops, and praying they'd dry before inspection.

Morning drills on the grinder felt endless-the 16-count manual of arms, marching in step, shots upon shots at sick bay. Demerits meant "marching Parties," and I saw plenty of those. Shining boondockers and dress shoes became a daily obsession. Thankfully, a few Filipino recruits knew tricks of the trade. For a couple of dollars, they'd get your shoes gleaming like glass.

 During service week I was assigned to the chow hall, mostly on salad duty. To this day, I can't stand the sight of cottage cheese. Potatoes had to be peeled by the sack, and cleanup was constant. You also had to avoid the bakers on the way back to the barracks­ if they caught you, you'd find yourself stuck on the night shift making bread. Still, there was pride in it. Graduation day felt like I had climbed a mountain I wasn't sure I could reach. For the first Time, I thought, I've done something big. I've made it through.

 After a short trip home to savor the freedom, I reported to my first ship, the USS Hancock, in Alameda, California. That began a journey that lasted three years and eight months. But in May 1966, standing in line at the chow hall in San Diego, still half-asleep and unsure, I couldn't have imagined the places the Navy would take me.

Chapter Two - Reporting Aboard the USS Hancock

My journey to report to the USS Hancock (CVA-19) began when I landed in San Francisco. Fresh out of boot camp, I walked through the terminal, trying to figure out how to get transportation to the ship. That's when I was approached by a salty First Class petty officer. To me, still wet behind the ears, he seemed like somebody important.He started telling me how to get to the ship, but it quickly became clear he was more interested in my wallet than in helping me. He tried steering me away from the crowd, but I suggested we go To the USO club instead. That's when he backed off and disappeared. It was my first taste of Navy life outside the safe bubble of boot camp-lesson learned.

I eventually found bus transportation, only to discover that the Hancock wasn't in Alameda as I had expected. Instead, she was across the bay at Hunters Point Naval Shipyard, laid up in dry dock for repairs. When I finally arrived and climbed the ramp to the afterbrow, I stopped, saluted the flag, and asked permission to come aboard. It was late in the evening. I was escorted to the personnel office, where I was officially assigned to V-2 Division, the catapults. From there, I was shown my first rack and locker.

After a few nights, I was transferred to V-2 AG (Arresting Gear), with a sleeping area in Engine Room 3. That's where I met John Candy, a Third Class Aviation Boatswain's Mate (ABE3). He was one of the first to make me feel at home. John was a short-timer, only a couple of months from discharge, but in that short window we became fast friends. He helped me learn the ropes, gave me advice, and showed me how to get settled in. Before he left, he passed down his extra locker, much of his old uniforms, and even a camera. When he walked off the ship for the last time, I felt the weight of the Navy settling fully on my shoulders. My life Aboard the Hancock was just beginning.

Chapter Three -  Life at Sea

Once the repairs were completed at Hunters Point, the Hancock headed to sea to begin carrier qualifications. We operated off the coast of San Diego, often circling near and around San Clemente Island, a stretch of water that would become very familiar to me.

My assignment was in Arresting Gear Engine Room 4. To my surprise, I was also given the collateral duty of Arresting Gear supply CLERK. That meant ordering everything from toilet paper to system parts, lubricants, and all manner of supplies. I even had my own little office with a typewriter-a rare bit Of quiet space on such a noisy ship.

Then came the heart of the carrier: flight operations. The first time I saw aircraft landing and launching from the flight deck, I realized how little I knew. Jets and planes I'd only heard about suddenly roared to life just a deck above me: A-4 Skyhawks, F-8 Crusaders, A-1 Skyraiders-and many more I'd come to recognize by their sound alone.

But landings did not always go smoothly. One night, an F-8 Crusader came in too low and struck the round down at the stern. The pilot ejected, and the rescue helicopter raced in. A swimmer went into the water to hook the pilot up for recovery. The helicopter pulled the pilot to safety-but in the confusion, the swimmer was lost. Despite a long search, he was never found. That night, I understood for the first time that not all the danger was on the flight deck.

Accidents were a fact of life aboard a carrier. Each landing carried its own tension, every arresting cable catch a mix of precision and risk. For those of us working below deck in the arresting gear spaces, the shock of the wires snapping aircraft to a stop traveled right into our bones. You never got used to it­ you respected it. Weeks of training stretched ahead. The pace was unrelenting: drills, qualifications, supply requests, and the constant rhythm of launches and Recoveries. Each day carried us closer to the inevitable: deployment to the waters off Vietnam.

Chapter Four - Shipmates and Brotherhood

My shipmates aboard the Hancock came from every corner of the country, each with his own life story. Some were farm boys, others city kids, a few had already been around the world. What we all shared was the same challenge: adjusting to life aboard a carrier.

Friendships formed quickly. In the Arresting Gear division, most of the crew were seasoned hands who had deployed before. For a new sailor like me, their experience was invaluable. They taught me not only the job, but Also how to survive the endless days at SEA.

Of course, liberty overseas was where the real lessons began. My first experience was in Japan. The streets near the base seemed lined with bars, each one packed with sailors eager to blow off steam. I learned the ways of a crazy sailor that night, and I also learned the hard truth about drinking too much. That was a night I never forgot-and one I decided never to repeat.

Not every liberty story was mine, but plenty became shipboard legend. In Subic Bay, Philippines, one First Class returned to the ship wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. No one knew if he lost his uniform in a card game, a bar fight, or something less explainable-but he Laughed it off as though it were nothing. Another shipmate came back from town with what he swore was "monkey meat" stuffed inside his jumper. Nobody asked too many questions, though the smell did the talking.

These were the stories that bonded us. We laughed, we shook our heads, and we looked out for each other. Brotherhood wasn't something written down-it was built in the small things: swapping liberty tales, sharing smuggled snacks, covering a watch for a buddy who needed a break. Out at sea, thousands of miles from home, your shipmates became your family.

Chapter Five -  Ports of Call

One of the greatest rewards of Navy life was the chance to see the world. For a young sailor who had barely been out of Georgia, every port brought something new, something unforgettable.

 Hawaii was usually our first stop. Liberty there was always a highlight-Diamond Head standing tall, the pineapple fields rolling for miles, and the beaches alive with music, laughter, and beautiful girls. No visit was complete without standing at the USS Arizona Memorial, a solemn reminder of those who had gone before us. No matter how many times we visited, it never failed to move me.

From Hawaii, the Philippines offered a different kind of experience altogether. Liberty in Subic Bay was like stepping into another world. Crossing the infamous river with the name every sailor remembers, you found streets that never seemed to sleep. Grande Island was a calmer escape-sitting by the shore, watching the bay stretch out with mountains in the distance. And for those who wanted it, there was always a local girl eager to dance, talk, and share the night.

Japan was a personal favorite. While in Sasebo, I met up with my brother, who was stationed in Korea at the time. Together, we toured for several days, riding trains through Nagasaki, Hiroshima, and Osaka. It was sobering to stand in places where history had left its deepest scars. When it was time to return to the Hancock, I flew back near Sasebo, but had to finish the trip by train. On that ride, I struck up a conversation with a young Japanese woman who spoke excellent English-an exchange student just returned from the U.S. Her father was a police officer in her hometown. We talked the whole trip, and it reminded me how small the world could feel, even half a planet away from Georgia.

If Japan was a delight, Hong Kong was the jewel of our ports. Sailors often arranged for their wives to meet them there, and it became a city of reunions and celebrations. The harbor glittered With lights, the streets pulsed with energy. I even caught a showing of John Wayne's True Grit when it first hit theaters. Sitting in that Hong Kong cinema, I felt both far from home and oddly connected to it.

One of the most unusual stops was Singapore. There I saw snake charmers for the first time-vendors squatting with baskets on the ground, coaxing king cobras to rise with the sound of a flute. Down on the pier, the Navy had its own version of a roach coach, serving up fish and chips that were the best I'd ever tasted.

But as exciting as every port was, the greatest port of all was always the last one: Naval Air Station Alameda. After months at sea, there was no sweeter sight than the Bay Bridge and the San Francisco skyline, no better words than home sweet home.

Chapter Six -  Trials and Challenges

The ocean offered a daily reminder of both the beauty and the power of the world. During one deployment, the Hancock operated off the coast of Korea. The seas were rough-rougher than anything I had ever seen. For the first time, I watched waves crash over the bow of an aircraft carrier. Our destroyer escorts, usually riding alongside with steady grace, seemed swallowed by the sea. More than once they disappeared almost completely under the waves, only to surface again like battered survivors. It was a sight that left me in awe.

By this time, my duties had shifted. In addition to handling supply Responsibilities for Arresting Gear, I was assigned to work on the LSO (Landing Signal Officer) platform. The LSO officers were the lifeline for pilots, guiding them safely onto the flight deck. But not all landings were safe. From that vantage point, I witnessed accidents that still stay with me. One night, an F-8 Crusader came in too low and exploded just yards from the platform. The blast threw debris and fire into the air. Officers and enlisted alike dove into the safety net below the platform, piling onto one another in a desperate scramble. One officer suffered a broken leg in the chaos. When the smoke cleared, we saw part of The aircraft floating by-with the pilot still strapped inside the cockpit. That is an image you never forget.

Not every memory was grim. While on the platform, I had the privilege of meeting Commander Phil Wood, a Navy legend and MiG killer. He had served aboard the USS Bon Homme Richard, and on May 19, 1967, shot down a MiG-17 while flying his F-8C Crusader with VF-24. He later became the Commanding Officer of the USS Kitty Hawk (CVA-63). To stand beside men like him was humbling.

Danger wasn't limited to the flight deck. One day, while deep inside the Hancock's storage area retrieving supplies, I sat in a large hatch with the prop rod propping it open. Out of nowhere, something struck the prop, and the heavy hatch slammed down onto my legs. For a terrifying moment, I thought both legs were gone. With all my strength I pushed it open and managed to pull free. My left leg was badly bruised, the metal cutting deep enough to leave an indentation in the muscle. At sick bay, X-rays showed nothing was broken, but my leg stayed swollen, black, and blue for weeks.

Through it all, letters from home were our lifeline. Postage was free, and we wrote whenever we could. There was nothing like the joy of receiving a package or letter from family and friends -those envelopes  carried pieces  of Home that kept us going during long months at sea.

Chapter Seven -  Pride and Service

When I first entered the Navy, I wasn't particularly happy about leaving home, family, and friends behind. Like many young men, I felt torn between duty and the life I was walking away from. But once I stepped aboard the Hancock, there was no turning back-I had a job to do.

I made it a point to follow orders and show respect for those I served alongside. I wasn't the loudest or the toughest, but I tried to carry myself with discipline. I kept my seabag squared away, my gear in order, and wore the best I had to maintain a sharp military image. Whenever we hit port, I used the laundry service to keep my uniformS Pressed and clean. Division inspections didn't happen often, but I wanted to be ready when they did.

Back home, the world was changing. Protests against the Vietnam War grew louder, and many college students questioned or condemned the service of men in uniform. Because of that, I rarely spoke about my time in the Navy during those years. It wasn't until much later in life that I began to share my experiences more openly.

Looking back now, I feel nothing but pride. I was proud to serve in the United States Navy, proud of the men I worked beside, and proud of what we accomplished together. Those years aboard the Hancock tested me, shaped me, and gave me a sense of honor that I still carry today.

Chapter Eight - Coming Home

In April 1970, the Hancock returned from my third deployment to the Gulf of Tonkin. As we steamed toward San Francisco Bay and passed under the Golden Gate Bridge, the crew formed up to man the rails in full dress blues. The sight of thousands of sailors standing tall in the cool Bay air was one of pride and tradition.

On the pier at Naval Air Station Alameda, families and friends gathered in anticipation, waving and straining to catch the first glimpse of their sailor. Among them were my parents, who had always supported me throughout my service. They had driven all the way from Georgia to California to meet the ship and to bring me home. Hitched behind their car was a U-Haul trailer, ready to be filled with the odds and ends I had accumulated over nearly four years: a motorbike, some fine China dishware, and the souvenirs and keepsakes of a life lived across the Pacific. Once we found each other on the crowded pier, we embraced. The Navy had taught me discipline, responsibility, and resilience-but in that moment, I was simply a son, grateful to see my parents' faces again. With the help of some shipmates, we loaded up my gear and made ready to leave.

But before I could walk away, there was still one more hurdle: discharge papers And final pay. The personnel office was a maze of desks, each sailor waiting his turn for orders or separation. What I thought would be quick took nearly all day. Hour after hour, the line crawled forward. It was close to midnight when I finally had my papers in hand and stepped off the Hancock for the very last time.

My parents had waited the entire day and evening, patiently standing by, determined to see me through to the end. Together, we left the base just past midnight, the car packed and the trailer loaded. Heading south through Los Angeles, we turned onto Interstate 10, beginning the long road back to Georgia. My Navy years were behind me now, but the memories and lessons would Remain for a lifetime.

Epilogue

Looking back across the years, I can see clearly what the Navy gave me. My time aboard the Hancock taught me the value of hard work, discipline, and respect for those around me. It wasn't always easy­ long deployments, tough seas, and the challenges of carrier life tested us daily­ but the lessons endured.

When my Navy service came to an end, I carried those lessons into civilian life. I was privileged to join Western Electric Company, where I started at the ground level. The habits of discipline, organization, and perseverance I had learned at sea helped me climb steadily through the ranks. Over the years, I advanced into management, and eventually retired at a Director level.

I have always given credit to the Navy for that success. The foundation it laid­ the respect for teamwork, the willingness to adapt, and the pride in doing a job well-never left me. Even now, I remain proud to have worn the uniform of the United States Navy. The friendships, the challenges, and the sense of service are things I carry with me always.

Go Navy!

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