NRTC GLAKES    Company 121    04/49 - 07/49

Nothing much to say here, we all know what boot camp is - in 1949, it was an input of generally inexperienced young men from all walks of life, and after 13 weeks of shaping and honing, an output of reasonably knowledgeable tyros who at least knew the significance of the pointy end of the boat.  I was issued a seabag (sans wife, of course); a service number; a black on white ID card with chain for my neck; a bunk; a drill rifle; and - a whole passel of orders and commands.

We did, we learned, and we did some more - the metamorphosis: street kid, farm kid, various other kids - slowly but surely we threw off yesterday's child, becoming today's (very) young man.  I was not a swimmer - some shrink would probably attribute it to the long dunking I received at the hands of my teenage cousin's then boyfriend in Lake Anawanda , Sullivan County, New York - above and beyond Callicoon Center.  I was about seven.  Whatever ... but the fact was I couldn't (or wouldn't) swim.  Afraid to be below water, I had trouble qualifying.  On the day it "just had to be done" and, after much procrastination, I jumped from the tower into the pool, finally rising to immediately grab the pool guard's long pole and pull myself out.  It may have been a paper success, but I was definitely not a swimmer.

Before graduation we actually had a short bout with snow and sleet while standing to one day, awaiting our turn to enter the mess hall.  Big deal?  Well, it was almost July; but "the Lakes" was like that.  Today the weather-guessers call it lake-effect, right?  I was ordered to Class "A" Radar School, Boston at the Fargo Building on Summer Street. There is an old saw about the recruit who was asked about going to Fire Control school. "But, " he replied, "I don't want to be a fireman."  Well, I certainly fell into that category and I answered the same way when interviewed for what was called a "Job Code".

Radarman "A" School
Fargo Building, Boston, MA

RD "A" & CIC    Boston MA      Class 8-49    07/49 - 02/50

What did I know about electricity?  Nothing, but I knew it existed.  About radar?  Less than nothing; I never heard of it.  But we all soon learned.   SA, SC/SK, SG, SO, even ST, SU and SV - AND - there really was an SQ.  There was also Cinderella liberty for the radar school guys.  And there was the Silver Dollar, Boston Common, and "Drop Flap Annie" - but those are other stories.  A "can" went aground in Martha's Vineyard on a holiday weekend.  With crews at minimum, scratching for some help, Navy came up with me and a few others to pinch hit as harbor tug sailors.  We went out there to "pull 'er off".  But it didn't happen, they needed a fleet tug - more power.  My service?  Standard routine for a "temp" - mess cook.

After six months of radar school and four weeks of basic CIC school, we all anxiously waited for the bull-board posting of our orders.  There'd been speculation of course, with all kinds of possibilities raised.  But, I adamantly refused to believe "---- City" and crowed it to the heights of audio - NOT ME!, I wailed.  I was right - Charleston - Mine Craft Base.  Overjoyed (at being right for once) I bellowed "Told you so" to my peers.  And off to Charleston I went - FFA.  Well, as a "Scope Dope" I was put in with the "Twidges" (before Twidge was cool).   The ET shack was one of those temporary portable buildings that become permanent by default.  Mainly I chipped paint under the work benches, but one day they sent me to help an ET3 to reinstall the SO-8 antenna dome on an AMS.  His 200 plus pounds and my 165 went up to the antenna platform and installed that cover.  We shook a bit, but I gave it to the wind effect.  Afterwards, ET3 struck up a "conversation", (read coffee and bull ---- session) with a QM3 leaving me to wait.  My Sea Scout days taught me something about RHIP so I understood my lowly position.  I got to watching, then talking with, a seaman who was chipping paint from the collar around the wooden mast at deck level.  As we talked and he chipped, the chipping hammer disappeared (in the mast).  We both looked dumbfounded I guess as we peered into that hole (he did retrieve the hammer).  The rotted mast was reported to QM3; ET3 and I went back to the shop.  Next day the AMS was headed to the yard for a new mast.  Hmmm.  But the worst was still to come - after 10 ten days and no ship in sight, I was suddenly rerouted from Charleston to - ugh - Norfolk.

I remember (just now) having put a pair of undress blues in the dryer - BIG mistake.    Those woolies shrank to about the size for an 18-month old baby.  Who knew?  In boot camp, we washed our gear by hand and hung them to dry using clothes stops - there were no machines.  Life is full of "little things" isn't it?

There was:

PO1 George Pilkington - Instructor.   We used to do New York City and back on "72" weekends.  Secaucus, my home in north Jersey, was just across the Hudson river, so I rode often.  Monday classes were tough though, having ridden all night.

PO1 Henry Nadeau & FCC J. V. Curran - Instructors.

USN Years
USS Carpenter DDK-825