reached to take the twenty from my hand, a big wave came along and I pulled away from her.
She missed catching the bill from my hand. The next wave caused me to rock back toward her. So I called out, “Quick, grab the money!” She did, successfully this time. But when she went to give me change, another wave pulled me away. I had to wait for the return motion to once more fall toward her. Quickly I grabbed the change from her hand, and then made my retreat from that store as fast as I could. As I departed, I could hear all the women laughing at what had just happened inside.
I could have waited for another bus to take me back to the ship. But instead I was determined to walk this thing off. There was a sidewalk, so I started following it down toward the docks. As I walked, just like in the store, the sidewalk rose up and then went down. I would kind of stumble along like a drunk. All the while I kept telling myself, this isn’t really happening, I’m on dry land!
I observed the signs which were posted, each warning me not to stray off the sidewalk, as there were land mines planted in the grass. Had I been a drunk, I may not have been around today to tell this funny story, and Guantanamo Bay might have been short one land mine. Anyway, as I was making my way, I began to feel exhausted, and was sweating due to the warm weather in Cuba. At that moment a truck load of Marines showed up to rescue me. It was one of those trucks they use to transport troops. There were about a dozen Marines in the back. Stopping the truck they asked if I would like a ride back to my ship.
I eagerly said, “Thanks, I sure would.” “Come on, hop in,” said the Marines, even offering me a hand up. I spoke with them as we drove to the docks. We built up some rapport as I told them about my adventures and the look on the women’s faces at the Exchange. They asked me to point out which ship below was mine. I did, and they pulled up on the dock in front of my ship and let me off. Thanking them again and wishing them good luck with their tour of duty, I proceeded up the plank to get back onboard.
One of the old salts, a veteran of WWII, seeing me get out of the truck and coming aboard called out to me. “Hey Callihan! Tell me I didn’t see what I just watched. You got out of a truckload of Marines? Didn’t anyone warn you about these Marines?” I was thinking he must be referring to the rivalry which is tradition among the Navy and Marines. So I answered, “Yes Ed, they were a nice group of guys. They gave me a ride back to the ship.” To this Ed replied, “You Dummy, didn’t you get the word about the Marines stationed here?”
Obviously not, so I asked, “What word?” Ed then enlightened me. “The Marines stationed here are bored to tears. They have a reputation of offering Sailors a ride back to their ship, then kidnapping them, holding them in their barracks till after their ship sails. You are one lucky dumb Sailor!” I don’t know for sure. But I think my Irish wit and my ability to laugh at myself may have saved me from that fate. The way I spoke of my embarrassment at the Marine Exchange, they probably felt sorry for me, that I’d been through enough. Whatever the reason, I thanked them for the ride back to the Greenwood. See, it just proves sometimes the Navy and Marines can and do help one another.
THE CUBAN ADVENTURE CONTINUES!
After docking, Navy divers with Hookah diving equipment went to work closing all the leaks we had developed while crossing the Windward Passage. I learned the guys down in the bilges, (where I might have been working, had I not spoken up) were walking around with their pant legs rolled up. They were said to have been knee deep in water. So that first day was spent draining out the sea water from below, and welding the ship back together.
The next day the Greenwood was pronounced sea worthy. It was now time to go out for gunnery practice. This proved to be very interesting. A plane came by towing a drone target. First the forward gun turret took some shots at the drone. To everyone’s delight they scored a good many hits. Next it was time for the rear gun turret to take some shots at the target. One loud BANG was heard. The turret leaped into the air, about five feet off the deck. When it came back down, the men inside came running out shouting, “That’s enough of that!” Did I forget to mention, the USS Greenwood was a destroyer escort from WW II days? It was now the mid sixties.
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO STEER?
“Joe, how would you like to try steering the ship?” This was the question the First Class Quartermaster put to me. Up until that time the only thing I had done was copy the messages dictated by the Signalman, and write the ship’s log. So this seemed too good to be true. “Sure, I’d like to try, thank you.” He first showed me how to turn the wheel to the right when you want to go left and to the left when you want to go right. You had to turn rapidly and hard to get a quick and good response.
It did not take me long to get the idea. In no time I was the one steering the ship. We were cruising just off the shoreline of Cuba. Things seemed to be going smoothly, but of course not for long. Suddenly, we took a hard turn toward the beach. Quickly the order was shouted, “Hard right rudder!” I was turning as hard and quick as I could. The First Class Quartermaster pushed me aside and began turning the wheel for all he was worth, but to no avail. “Sir, we’ve lost steering control,” he called up to the Flying Bridge.
We were headed toward beaching on the Cuban shore. The three other ships in our convoy signaled, asking what maneuver we were making. The response was to send up the “lost steering control” flag. Reading the flag they quickly turned away, back out to sea. By now the shore was very close and getting closer. I could see the headlines: U.S. Naval ship runs aground in Cuba!
Quartermaster Striker Joseph Callihan was at the helm.
I was not yet in a panic mode. At least not until the Lieutenant Commander, the next in command, came down from the Flying Bridge offering to help us. I’m not kidding; this man looked like an exact double of the late Wally Cox, even to the glasses.
“Lost steering control?” he asked, as he looked at the First Class Quartermaster. “Yes sir!” the Quartermaster replied. “Hum…let’s
see” he said, as he looked at a panel of switches. He looked over the switches with a very serious and contemplative look. I was thinking, perhaps we are about to be rescued. I had no idea of what exactly he was doing as he flipped a switch on the panel behind me. Apparently neither did he, because after flipping the switch, the First Class Quartermaster informed him, “Sir, that’s the stern light.” “Oh yes, it’s this one,” turning on another switch. “Sir, you just turned on the bow light” the Quartermaster said. “Let’s try this one,” the Lt. Commander said as he turned yet another switch on. “Sir, those are the port lights,” the Quartermaster told him.
It became apparent he was trying to put on a show that he was “in charge” of the situation. “I see,” he said. “Well I’m going back up to the Flying Bridge. Inform me when you get control back.” “Yes sir, I will,” the First Class Quartermaster answered.
He departed, and I looked at the First Class Quartermaster. He looked back at me, shrugged his shoulders, and we both started to laugh. If the Lieutenant Commander’s intention had been to reassure me, he failed badly. I must confess. I began to wonder just how long Fidel would be holding us in prison. I was thinking, “So…you had to join the Navy Reserve!”
Things were indeed looking bleak, as we were almost in wading deep water. Then the good news came. We’ve regained steering control. The Captain called down from the Flying Bridge saying, “Let’s get to hell out of here!” We quickly turned back out into the deeper waters. Poor Fidel lost his big chance. But what had happened in the first place?
Later, I learned it was the Chief Signalman who had been at the root of our problem. The ship had an area which is called the after steering. It is located at the rear of the ship, on a lower floor. If under attack the Bridge gets blown away, steering can be done from the after steering compartment. It is weird; you are facing to the rear, looking at a blank wall. Yet you are steering the bow of the ship forward, not seeing what is ahead.
The Captain suggested someone go down to the after steering compartment, and see if anyone was there. It was discovered the Chief