The damp Oregon chill had little trouble penetrating my jacket at sunrise on Jan. 30, 1967. It turned out to be one of the longest days of my life, which I began by waiting on the folks' front porch in West Salem. With a small duffel bag in hand, I was nervous and filled with anticipation . . . waiting to begin a four-year journey that would take me around the world -- and to war.
In minutes a gray government sedan pulled into the gravel driveway. Out stepped a burly veteran chief petty officer with gold hash marks down his sleeve (the recruiter). He greeted my folks and asked, "You ready to go, son? We've got a lot to do today." I was 19 years old.That recruiter -- a submarine sailor -- may have embellished things before I signed the enlistment papers, but this time he was right. My first day in the U.S. Navy would be a busy one.
By the time that chief got to me at the recruiting office, he'd spent more than 30 years in the Navy, including service in World War II. That morning we drove north on Interstate 5 to the Armed Forces Examining and Entrance Station (AFEES) in downtown Portland. Since I was a captive audience in that car, the chief was happy to relate a few more sea stories until we arrived. (Note: a sea story is something like a fish story, in which the fish gets bigger every time the story is told.) During the Vietnam War, the AFEES was a bustling hub of activity for newly enlisted -- or drafted -- soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen from the Pacific Northwest. At the loud behest of a non-commissioned officer, I was ordered to go mingle with a bunch of other recruits in the Navy processing section.
After a long and tedious wait, a couple dozen of us were told to assemble behind a row of white screens, strip to our undershorts, and wait for the doctor to administer our physical exams. I was seventh or eighth in line, and when I heard that doctor tell the guy beside me to "turn your head and cough," I knew I was next.
When done with more tests, paperwork and recovering our clothes, we assembled in rows to be sworn in. An officer in a crisp white uniform -- properly somber for the occasion -- asked us to raise our right hands. After vowing to defend our country against all enemies, foreign and domestic, we were sailors.
Five or six hours later, we were bused to Portland International Airport. My first airplane flight was on that 707 jet bound for Lindbergh Field in San Diego, Calif.I discovered that flying is wonderful. But that night when we arrived at the naval training center, I was in trouble. The training petty officers were shouting out directions and telling us where to get what -- but I couldn't hear a thing. My ears were still plugged from the flight.
But it all turned out OK. We got to bed about 2:30 a.m. Plus we got a bonus . . . they let us sleep about three hours before waking us up for our first day at Navy boot camp.
