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| 1967 U.S.S. Montrose Crew Give Hearts to Vietnamese |
The following article was published by the Star Newspaper in Glendale, California on
July 27, 1967. The Montrose Elementary School, which had adopted our ship, saved
this story and other memorabilia pertaining to the USS Montrose. When the school
closed down in 1979 they gave everything to the Glendale School District. A picture of
the USS Montrose still hangs in their administrative offices in Glendale, California.
July 27, 1967. The Montrose Elementary School, which had adopted our ship, saved
this story and other memorabilia pertaining to the USS Montrose. When the school
closed down in 1979 they gave everything to the Glendale School District. A picture of
the USS Montrose still hangs in their administrative offices in Glendale, California.
Pacific Fleet Amphibious Force navy men from the attack transport USS Montrose
(APA-212) have put their hearts, minds and professional talents to work in Vietnamese
fishing villages along the Long Tau river, Saigon's river route to the sea.
Volunteers from the Montrose joined U.S. Army advisors in friend making civic action
projects at the strategic villages of Can Gio, Dong Hoa, Thanh An and Can Thanh.
Some weeks ago, after the USS Montrose anchored in Vung Tau Harbor near the river
mouth, an army advisor visited the ship and outlined the situation in the river villages,
their needs and the opportunity for giving them aid. The amphibious warship's crew
immediately set in motion a plan for an effective "People to People" program in the four
villages located within a 20 square mile district.
To carry out the program, USS Montrose had 25 pallets of Operation Handclasp
material, paint and plenty of willing volunteers available. The crew got some wooden
crates from the USS Askari (ARL-30) for repair work and additional supplies from the
USS Kemper County (LST-854).
Operation Handclasp in the designation of the People-to-People program in which U.S.
Navy ships transport items donated by Americans to needy people all over the world.
This material normally includes toys, clothing, medicines and various other items.
For the next three weeks until she weighed anchor, at least one landing craft departed
USS Montrose at dawn with materials and volunteers almost every day. Usually
included were the ship's doctor, Lt. Donald E. Banicki, his assistant Hospital Corpsman
Third Class Michael E. Mycka (who has since been transferred) and Dental Technician
Third Class Michael A. Hancock.
In each village there were two basic objectives in addition to medical aid. These were
projects which gave tangible results and allowed the people to do the work so they
could take pride in it.
First the schools and dispensaries were painted under the supervision and instruction of
the Montrose "Amphibians". Then Handclasp material was distributed to vietnamese
troops who protected the villages, families and school children.
After the Handclasp material presentation in Dong Hoa, the village mayor invited the
USS Montrose sailors to a picnic in appreciation for giving a helping hand.
"Perhaps the most lasting results of the ship's trips to the fishing villages will not be
brightly painted schools and a little tooth that no longer aches", said Capt. Donald C.
Davis, then skipper of USS Montrose, "but a better understanding of the Vietnamese by
those who chose to help and the remembrances in young minds of those who came to
help them."
Captain Davis was relieved on June 24 by Captain Gautier and will take command of
the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk at Long Beach in August.
(APA-212) have put their hearts, minds and professional talents to work in Vietnamese
fishing villages along the Long Tau river, Saigon's river route to the sea.
Volunteers from the Montrose joined U.S. Army advisors in friend making civic action
projects at the strategic villages of Can Gio, Dong Hoa, Thanh An and Can Thanh.
Some weeks ago, after the USS Montrose anchored in Vung Tau Harbor near the river
mouth, an army advisor visited the ship and outlined the situation in the river villages,
their needs and the opportunity for giving them aid. The amphibious warship's crew
immediately set in motion a plan for an effective "People to People" program in the four
villages located within a 20 square mile district.
To carry out the program, USS Montrose had 25 pallets of Operation Handclasp
material, paint and plenty of willing volunteers available. The crew got some wooden
crates from the USS Askari (ARL-30) for repair work and additional supplies from the
USS Kemper County (LST-854).
Operation Handclasp in the designation of the People-to-People program in which U.S.
Navy ships transport items donated by Americans to needy people all over the world.
This material normally includes toys, clothing, medicines and various other items.
For the next three weeks until she weighed anchor, at least one landing craft departed
USS Montrose at dawn with materials and volunteers almost every day. Usually
included were the ship's doctor, Lt. Donald E. Banicki, his assistant Hospital Corpsman
Third Class Michael E. Mycka (who has since been transferred) and Dental Technician
Third Class Michael A. Hancock.
In each village there were two basic objectives in addition to medical aid. These were
projects which gave tangible results and allowed the people to do the work so they
could take pride in it.
First the schools and dispensaries were painted under the supervision and instruction of
the Montrose "Amphibians". Then Handclasp material was distributed to vietnamese
troops who protected the villages, families and school children.
After the Handclasp material presentation in Dong Hoa, the village mayor invited the
USS Montrose sailors to a picnic in appreciation for giving a helping hand.
"Perhaps the most lasting results of the ship's trips to the fishing villages will not be
brightly painted schools and a little tooth that no longer aches", said Capt. Donald C.
Davis, then skipper of USS Montrose, "but a better understanding of the Vietnamese by
those who chose to help and the remembrances in young minds of those who came to
help them."
Captain Davis was relieved on June 24 by Captain Gautier and will take command of
the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk at Long Beach in August.
| Montrose, CA |
| Montrose School |
| Crees, Gleaton Principal, Sugart |
| Principal and Gleaton with picture |
| "COMBAT" by Ed Nicholls USMC/US Army Ret. |
A year or so ago, Russ McDonald and Tom Gamel were remembering a Marine
mascot named Combat, who had traveled with the Marines aboard the Montrose. He
had been quite a hit with the crew. "Wonder what ever happened to that dog?", Russ
asked. Tom gave Mac one of those looks and dryly commented "He died Mac!". they
both cracked up at the obvious absurdity. "You know what I mean" said Mac. "Did he
make it back to the states and have a good life?"
Recently Mac came across an article written for the 3rd Marine Division, personal
stories. Both uplifting and said, it answered his questions about a special little dog, at
a special time in many of out lives. The following story is taken from that article, in
context.
mascot named Combat, who had traveled with the Marines aboard the Montrose. He
had been quite a hit with the crew. "Wonder what ever happened to that dog?", Russ
asked. Tom gave Mac one of those looks and dryly commented "He died Mac!". they
both cracked up at the obvious absurdity. "You know what I mean" said Mac. "Did he
make it back to the states and have a good life?"
Recently Mac came across an article written for the 3rd Marine Division, personal
stories. Both uplifting and said, it answered his questions about a special little dog, at
a special time in many of out lives. The following story is taken from that article, in
context.
Regimental landing team-7 (RLT-7) had suffered culture shock, homesickness, heat
exhaustion, heat stroke and jungle rot. They had stings and bites from a wide variety of
crawling, creeping or flying things. Sweat burned into hundreds of razor grass cuts.
They had been in-country since March. Most had lost at least 20 pounds. They had
lost a dozen buddies to "Victor Charlie". It was a fierce summer, in a horrid place.
When RLT-7 commenced "Operation Starliet", August 1965, the temperature was a
brutal 110 degrees, 96 percent humidity, but these were lean, mean, hungry, hot green
Marine "grunts". Gyrenes with spring steel muscle and no padding. Like the predator,
their eyes were always searching, never still. They wore the same uniforms they'd
worn back in the "World"; wool socks, full black leather combat boots and long sleeved,
cotton utilities. Word had it, they might be getting jungle utilities and flack jackets one
day soon (an old story to the grunts). Each man carried on third his weight in munitions,
C-Rats and explosives. They had trained to be the best fighting men in the world.
The first big battle of Vietnam began in multi-unit force. The enemy were the 1st NVA
Regiment, 60th and 80th NVA Battalions (rein), and the 16th VC Brigade. It was their
neighborhood!
During the 12 hours of savage fighting on August 18, forty-five Marines lost their lives,
two hundred and three were wounded, eight of whom later died. Two Medals of Honor
and seven Navy Crosses were awarded for sacrifices that day.
To Lcpl Ed Nicholls, a former LAPD cop, the number of casualties were hard to
imagine. Not only his fellow Marines, but a reported 600 to 2000 of the enemy. It was
the start of a new war term, "Body Count". During a lull in the battle, one of the
Marines found a tiny, emaciated puppy in a burned out village near An Coung. The
puppy was put in the care of Lcpl Nicholls. He was so small, he fit nicely into an M-60
ammo pouch. The Marines named him "Combat".
Combat adapted quickly to Marine life. After a first disliking, he even learned to enjoy
ham and lungers, pork sausage, pound cake and even peaches. Each day he became
more like a Marine grunt; smelly, ornery, cranky..always looking for shade. No one
could be too chummy with Combat; he was his own dog. He grew larger on the Marine
chow. If you gave him too much affection, he'd do a "wild thing" on your leg. Many a
10 1/2 EE boot made contact with his derriere. To Combat, it was all part of being a
mascot, part of a Marine thing. After Starlite came Operation Piranha. Combat stayed
behind with the gear. He didn't make Triple Play or Blue Marlin I & II. He became the
REMF (Rear Echelon Maintenance Force), the envy of every Vietnamese cook, a fat
little rascal. Wherever the troops went, Combat went with them, stoned to the gills (ala
US Navy Corpsmen Goodies). He traveled on board the troop ships from RVN to
Okinawa, to the Philippines and back to RVN. He participated in jungle training on
Okinawa and drank San Miguel beer with the Marines in Subic Bay before returning to
DaNang, late December.
He was with the Marines at Cade Song Bridge (Namo, Dia Loc, An Tan and Hill 367.
Because of his enlistment with the Marines, Combat picked up friends back in the
"World". His picture was in major newspapers and he began receiving fan mail. A
kindergarten class in Costa Mesa, California would draw pictures of combat and send
him notes, wishing he and his Marine friends well. The teacher, Miss Darcy, sent many
packages to Combat, via Lcpl Nicholls.
Alas, Ed Nicholls became a "short timer", then he was next, and finally he was GONE.
Sadly for Ed Nicholls, the "dawg" stayed in Vietnam with a new master. Years later, Ed
learned Combat had been killed in action (KIA) near DaNang, by a VC "booby trap".
Sgt. Nicholls eventually returned to Chu Lai on a second tour. Now retired from the
military and living on his Texas Hill Country ranch, the Sergeant gazes off occasionally
and imagines he sees Combat, that wonderful little dog, wagging his tail, dog grinning,
mooching a tidbit or happily eyeballing a shapely boot. Combat was the only thing that
made any sense in Vietnam.
Always Remembered... "Rest in Peace"...Semper Fi, Old Buddie.
exhaustion, heat stroke and jungle rot. They had stings and bites from a wide variety of
crawling, creeping or flying things. Sweat burned into hundreds of razor grass cuts.
They had been in-country since March. Most had lost at least 20 pounds. They had
lost a dozen buddies to "Victor Charlie". It was a fierce summer, in a horrid place.
When RLT-7 commenced "Operation Starliet", August 1965, the temperature was a
brutal 110 degrees, 96 percent humidity, but these were lean, mean, hungry, hot green
Marine "grunts". Gyrenes with spring steel muscle and no padding. Like the predator,
their eyes were always searching, never still. They wore the same uniforms they'd
worn back in the "World"; wool socks, full black leather combat boots and long sleeved,
cotton utilities. Word had it, they might be getting jungle utilities and flack jackets one
day soon (an old story to the grunts). Each man carried on third his weight in munitions,
C-Rats and explosives. They had trained to be the best fighting men in the world.
The first big battle of Vietnam began in multi-unit force. The enemy were the 1st NVA
Regiment, 60th and 80th NVA Battalions (rein), and the 16th VC Brigade. It was their
neighborhood!
During the 12 hours of savage fighting on August 18, forty-five Marines lost their lives,
two hundred and three were wounded, eight of whom later died. Two Medals of Honor
and seven Navy Crosses were awarded for sacrifices that day.
To Lcpl Ed Nicholls, a former LAPD cop, the number of casualties were hard to
imagine. Not only his fellow Marines, but a reported 600 to 2000 of the enemy. It was
the start of a new war term, "Body Count". During a lull in the battle, one of the
Marines found a tiny, emaciated puppy in a burned out village near An Coung. The
puppy was put in the care of Lcpl Nicholls. He was so small, he fit nicely into an M-60
ammo pouch. The Marines named him "Combat".
Combat adapted quickly to Marine life. After a first disliking, he even learned to enjoy
ham and lungers, pork sausage, pound cake and even peaches. Each day he became
more like a Marine grunt; smelly, ornery, cranky..always looking for shade. No one
could be too chummy with Combat; he was his own dog. He grew larger on the Marine
chow. If you gave him too much affection, he'd do a "wild thing" on your leg. Many a
10 1/2 EE boot made contact with his derriere. To Combat, it was all part of being a
mascot, part of a Marine thing. After Starlite came Operation Piranha. Combat stayed
behind with the gear. He didn't make Triple Play or Blue Marlin I & II. He became the
REMF (Rear Echelon Maintenance Force), the envy of every Vietnamese cook, a fat
little rascal. Wherever the troops went, Combat went with them, stoned to the gills (ala
US Navy Corpsmen Goodies). He traveled on board the troop ships from RVN to
Okinawa, to the Philippines and back to RVN. He participated in jungle training on
Okinawa and drank San Miguel beer with the Marines in Subic Bay before returning to
DaNang, late December.
He was with the Marines at Cade Song Bridge (Namo, Dia Loc, An Tan and Hill 367.
Because of his enlistment with the Marines, Combat picked up friends back in the
"World". His picture was in major newspapers and he began receiving fan mail. A
kindergarten class in Costa Mesa, California would draw pictures of combat and send
him notes, wishing he and his Marine friends well. The teacher, Miss Darcy, sent many
packages to Combat, via Lcpl Nicholls.
Alas, Ed Nicholls became a "short timer", then he was next, and finally he was GONE.
Sadly for Ed Nicholls, the "dawg" stayed in Vietnam with a new master. Years later, Ed
learned Combat had been killed in action (KIA) near DaNang, by a VC "booby trap".
Sgt. Nicholls eventually returned to Chu Lai on a second tour. Now retired from the
military and living on his Texas Hill Country ranch, the Sergeant gazes off occasionally
and imagines he sees Combat, that wonderful little dog, wagging his tail, dog grinning,
mooching a tidbit or happily eyeballing a shapely boot. Combat was the only thing that
made any sense in Vietnam.
Always Remembered... "Rest in Peace"...Semper Fi, Old Buddie.
| Combat 1 |
| Combat 2 |
| ROOTIN', TOOTIN' HUMDRUM SHOOTIN by Russ McDonald |
On the way to Hong Kong on Sunday June 11, 1967 we picked up an international
distress call from the ship "Winsome". She was sinking. We changed course and
hurried to help her. We arrived at 14:22 and the waves were filled with debris; she had
already gone under. A Russian ship had arrived first and rescued the crew of the
Winsome.
In the sunken ship's debris were three large drums which were considered hazardous to
vessels entering that area. "Mighty Montrose" went to General Quarters and on mount
41 nd from 16:30 to 16:45 fired away at those drums. In 15 minutes of pounding out
rounds she didn't score a single hit. If memory serves the Russian ship had already left
(Thank God). At 16:54 "Rose" again opened fire, this time with a 50 caliber machine
gun. I don't remember if we hit them with the 50's but the log said "unable to sink three
drums" and at 17:21 we departed the scene.
If only those drums had held still! Can't help wondering if they're still out there
somewhere...destroying ships! Isn't there a picture of DON JOHNSTON on page 117
of the 1967 cruise book, as a gunnery officer teaching his gunners mates how to fire a
machine gun???
distress call from the ship "Winsome". She was sinking. We changed course and
hurried to help her. We arrived at 14:22 and the waves were filled with debris; she had
already gone under. A Russian ship had arrived first and rescued the crew of the
Winsome.
In the sunken ship's debris were three large drums which were considered hazardous to
vessels entering that area. "Mighty Montrose" went to General Quarters and on mount
41 nd from 16:30 to 16:45 fired away at those drums. In 15 minutes of pounding out
rounds she didn't score a single hit. If memory serves the Russian ship had already left
(Thank God). At 16:54 "Rose" again opened fire, this time with a 50 caliber machine
gun. I don't remember if we hit them with the 50's but the log said "unable to sink three
drums" and at 17:21 we departed the scene.
If only those drums had held still! Can't help wondering if they're still out there
somewhere...destroying ships! Isn't there a picture of DON JOHNSTON on page 117
of the 1967 cruise book, as a gunnery officer teaching his gunners mates how to fire a
machine gun???
Russian Merchantman
| by Dr. John R. Judge |
director, I was on "medical guard" for the entire ships squadron one Friday night. At
that time the "Ramblin' Rose" was berthed at one of the docks in Subic Bay.
About 2300, I received an earnest call from our own Executive Officer to proceed
immediately with a medical rescue team, consisting of two corpsmen and four
Marines (for carrying purposes). The garbled report was that one of our own crew
had apparently "died" in our of the numerous girly joints in Olongapo, called The
Green Door, while being "entertained" by one of the hostesses.
Upon arrival, since this was the rainy season in the Philippines, there was mud
everywhere, and we had to walk about an eighth of a mile from the base perimeter,
to what passed for a road in the town, through mud that came up to the top of shoe
level. At the Green Door bar, where there was a great deal of excited screeching
from the hostesses, we were quickly led into a small upstairs cubicle, complete with
wall crucifix, where a huge mound of a man, naked from the waist down, was lying
prone on a cot. On sight, just the size of the man caused a few groans from my two
corpsmen.
Quick examination soon proved that not only was this sailor not dead, but that he was
in a stupor induced by Filipino Rum and (we found by questioning other patrons) 'Red
Devils', given to the sailors by the hostesses, allegedly to give them greater potency.
The combination was particularly dangerous since it caused sedation to the point
where even basic breathing reflexes could be diminished and cause unconsciousness
and ultimately kill an affected person. This is what probably had occured to this guy
while he was being "entertained."
Our subject was none other than our own Chief Bos'n Mate, otherwise known as
"Moose" who, apparently, had been up and down the ranks from Chief to Second
Class, more than a few times, for undetailed previous transgressions. He also
weighed in excess of 300 pounds, which was still permissible in the Navy at that time.
Needless to say, it was a very big hassle to get this dead-weight body onto a
stretcher, down from that cubicle, and back through the mud to the ship's Carryall,
which doubled as a makeshift ambulance, even with all six strong young men straining
to carry such a load. To make it worse, it also was raining, as only it can rain in the
Philippines. I heard a number of profanities, that were very colorful and some that I
had never heard, before or after, from the stretcher bearers, including some pleas to
just dump the s.o.b. and let him drown, to do him and the Navy a favor...It even was
a tremendous job to get him into the Carryall on the stretcher.
Once back at the wharf where the Montrose was berthed, it soon became obvious
that there was no way that this guy could be hand carried up the gangway, since, at
best, only four people could possibly maneuver this way, and he literally was dead
weight. One of the options actually considered was putting a pup tent over him at the
base of the gangway, with a Marine guard, until he could be roused, but this was
quickly negated for a lot of reasons, as impractical.
It was then that I made a request of the young O.D., out of my ignorance of the Navy
in what I was asking, and not knowing how much risk this would entail for this young
Ensign, if he complied.
I asked if we could possibly winch Moose aboard to the deck with one of the booms.
Within 5 minutes this was accomplished, after some of the Bos'n's own men rigged a
sling to allowed us to winch him aboard, aided immensely by the fact that the Captain
was not aboard, attending a party at the Subic Bay Commandant's place. (I later
found that this whole caper had had tacit, but not "official" approval from the Exec.,
who knew that Moose was one of the best Bos'n Mates in the Navy when he wasn't
drunk and didn't want to lose him in that capacity for the rest of the cruise.)
The cadre of Chiefs who were aboard quickly got Moose down to the sickbay, where
we poured in I.V. fluids to wash out the Seconal and booze. They also spirited him
away the next morning as soon as he awoke, groggily, and apparently none the
worse for wear. This also avoided having to log him in as a sickbay "patient" with all
the attendant paperwork and explanation for his sickbay time, which went daily to the
Captain.
My official report of the incident was basically of a "false alarm" with report of death
of American serviceman, unfounded.
I had found that the crew of the Montrose was basically wary of any new officer,
medical or otherwise, until that officer revealed himself as to his own characteristics.
Shortly after this incident, I found that both the crew and most of the officers were far
more open and trusting in discussing not only physical ailments, but in discussing
family problems or any interpersonal problems they were having, the traditional role
of the physician, as a trusted friend, rather than that of just another member of the
brass. I owed that to 'Moose', who by the way, really was one helluva Bos'n.
that time the "Ramblin' Rose" was berthed at one of the docks in Subic Bay.
About 2300, I received an earnest call from our own Executive Officer to proceed
immediately with a medical rescue team, consisting of two corpsmen and four
Marines (for carrying purposes). The garbled report was that one of our own crew
had apparently "died" in our of the numerous girly joints in Olongapo, called The
Green Door, while being "entertained" by one of the hostesses.
Upon arrival, since this was the rainy season in the Philippines, there was mud
everywhere, and we had to walk about an eighth of a mile from the base perimeter,
to what passed for a road in the town, through mud that came up to the top of shoe
level. At the Green Door bar, where there was a great deal of excited screeching
from the hostesses, we were quickly led into a small upstairs cubicle, complete with
wall crucifix, where a huge mound of a man, naked from the waist down, was lying
prone on a cot. On sight, just the size of the man caused a few groans from my two
corpsmen.
Quick examination soon proved that not only was this sailor not dead, but that he was
in a stupor induced by Filipino Rum and (we found by questioning other patrons) 'Red
Devils', given to the sailors by the hostesses, allegedly to give them greater potency.
The combination was particularly dangerous since it caused sedation to the point
where even basic breathing reflexes could be diminished and cause unconsciousness
and ultimately kill an affected person. This is what probably had occured to this guy
while he was being "entertained."
Our subject was none other than our own Chief Bos'n Mate, otherwise known as
"Moose" who, apparently, had been up and down the ranks from Chief to Second
Class, more than a few times, for undetailed previous transgressions. He also
weighed in excess of 300 pounds, which was still permissible in the Navy at that time.
Needless to say, it was a very big hassle to get this dead-weight body onto a
stretcher, down from that cubicle, and back through the mud to the ship's Carryall,
which doubled as a makeshift ambulance, even with all six strong young men straining
to carry such a load. To make it worse, it also was raining, as only it can rain in the
Philippines. I heard a number of profanities, that were very colorful and some that I
had never heard, before or after, from the stretcher bearers, including some pleas to
just dump the s.o.b. and let him drown, to do him and the Navy a favor...It even was
a tremendous job to get him into the Carryall on the stretcher.
Once back at the wharf where the Montrose was berthed, it soon became obvious
that there was no way that this guy could be hand carried up the gangway, since, at
best, only four people could possibly maneuver this way, and he literally was dead
weight. One of the options actually considered was putting a pup tent over him at the
base of the gangway, with a Marine guard, until he could be roused, but this was
quickly negated for a lot of reasons, as impractical.
It was then that I made a request of the young O.D., out of my ignorance of the Navy
in what I was asking, and not knowing how much risk this would entail for this young
Ensign, if he complied.
I asked if we could possibly winch Moose aboard to the deck with one of the booms.
Within 5 minutes this was accomplished, after some of the Bos'n's own men rigged a
sling to allowed us to winch him aboard, aided immensely by the fact that the Captain
was not aboard, attending a party at the Subic Bay Commandant's place. (I later
found that this whole caper had had tacit, but not "official" approval from the Exec.,
who knew that Moose was one of the best Bos'n Mates in the Navy when he wasn't
drunk and didn't want to lose him in that capacity for the rest of the cruise.)
The cadre of Chiefs who were aboard quickly got Moose down to the sickbay, where
we poured in I.V. fluids to wash out the Seconal and booze. They also spirited him
away the next morning as soon as he awoke, groggily, and apparently none the
worse for wear. This also avoided having to log him in as a sickbay "patient" with all
the attendant paperwork and explanation for his sickbay time, which went daily to the
Captain.
My official report of the incident was basically of a "false alarm" with report of death
of American serviceman, unfounded.
I had found that the crew of the Montrose was basically wary of any new officer,
medical or otherwise, until that officer revealed himself as to his own characteristics.
Shortly after this incident, I found that both the crew and most of the officers were far
more open and trusting in discussing not only physical ailments, but in discussing
family problems or any interpersonal problems they were having, the traditional role
of the physician, as a trusted friend, rather than that of just another member of the
brass. I owed that to 'Moose', who by the way, really was one helluva Bos'n.
| STORIES OF MY NAVY CAREER by Roy R Ridderbusch USS Montrose APA-212 1963-1965 |
The Montrose was a troop transport. She could carry 1500 troops and their
equipment. At meal time, the tables on the mess deck would be raised and the troops
ate standing up. That was so they wouldn't get too comfortable and would clear the
area as soon as they were done eating. Their bunks were seven high in some
quarters.
I was the first Master Chief on the ship. I relieved a warrant officer. Having an
enlisted man replacing an officer didn't go too well with the other officers and t hey
didn't know how to treat me. I did my job and stood my watches like the other chiefs
and every thing worked on me.
The ship was scheduled for a FRAM (Fleet Rehabilitation And Modernization) and of
course, it would be in San Francisco, not our home port of San Diego.
Once the ship was in the yard, all hands were moved to an APL (floating barracks).
The ship was completely shut down; boilers and engines were overhauled, air
conditioning was installed in the living quarters and reading lights were put on all the
bunks. The mess deck was redone as well as the galley. We were busy checking
and approving the yard work as it was completed. On long weekends, which was
about once a month, I would fly to San Diego to see my family. The four month yard
period went by pretty fast and soon we were on sea trails and underway training.
After a few practice landings with troops, we would be on our way to West Pac, for a
six month deployment.
Jim Garvey reported aboard shortly before we shipped out. We immediately became
friends. He was from Boston, my friend Russ was from there, too. I must have a
"thing" with people from there.
On arriving at Pearl Harbor, Jim suggested we go to the Willows restaurant in
Honolulu. It was very nice. We ate in a large outdoor, garden area. Ducks wandered
in and out between the tables and koi ponds. The restaurant was famous for its mile
high coconut cream pie. After finishing our meal, we ordered their famous pie, only to
be told that there wasn't any left. So much for their pie! The next time we were in
Pearl, Jim said "Let's go to the Chinese restaurant again" I said "We never went to a
Chinese restaurant." He said "Sure we did, the We Lo". That's what we called it from
then on. We had a fine dinner that night, but again they were out of mile high coconut
cream pie. On our last trip to Pearl, we again went to the We Lo, again no pie. Jim
asked the waiter, "How do we get the famous mile high coconut cream pie?" The
waiter replied, You have to order it when you make your reservation." We never did
get back to order the pie. Years later, Leona and i were celebrating our 50th wedding
anniversary in Honolulu. We found the Willows restaurant. It was now under new
management and was truly a Chinese restaurant. We looked at their menu, no mile
high coconut cream pie; so we went to the Crouching Lion restaurant and I finally got
my pie! No reservations required.
Jim and I made our liberties together. We stayed clear of the waterfront beer joints.
He said "It costs only a little more to go first class." We would go to fine restaurants
and sightsee places that sailors seldom got to. When the ship was in Kobe, Japan,
we took a train to Osaka for a weekend. People there were not used to seeing navy
men. One person asked what four gold stripes on a sleeve meant. Jim said those
would be captain's stripes. The man then said, in broken English, "You captains?"
pointing to our hashmarks. We let them think we were captains and had a great
weekend.
The Montrose was busy with practice landings, several were made at White Beach,
Okinawa. Sometimes there would be liberty after the exercise was completed. There
was really nothing at White Beach, so we would go to Kadina Air Force Base near
Naha. There was a nice NCO club at the base. On our way, we passed a rock
formation that looked somewhat like a monkey. It was a few miles in the distance and
I made the mistake of wondering, out loud, how a person could get to Monkey Rock.
Jim told me how to do it, "You go to Monkey Rock Road, on to Monkey Rock Creek,
which is a tributary of Monkey Rock River, cross on Monkey Rock River/Creek Bridge.
He went on and on, thank God we got to the base before his story ended on how to
get to Monkey Rock.
We took troops in to Pusan, Korea. There was no liberty for the electricians. We
were responsible for the movies. We picked them up at the movie exchange, showed
them and then returned them to the exchange. Somewhere, someway, one of the
films disappeared, perhaps stolen. They were valuable on the black market. We
were all restricted to the ship until the film was returned. (the missing strawberry
syndrome) We never found the films, perhaps it left with the troops. After we left
Korea the restriction was lifted with no further action.
Promotions came in while we were in Subic Bay. The fellows in engineering who made
new rates, bought a pig in Olongapo. A Philippino family roasted it for them and they
put on a regular luau. All the engineers were invited. It was quite a party, better than
handing out cigars.
While at Subic, Jim and I went into Olongapo for dinner. Jim liked gin. Only locally
made gin was available and Jim had a couple of drinks of it. We were walking past a
restaurant when Jim said he thought he was going to be sick and running around the
corner of the building, he threw up. Then he noticed that he was standing in front of a
large window. People were looking out, their dinners ruined. Jim retreated. Back at
the ship he told the story, only in his story I was the one who threw up in front of the
restaurant window. For a long time, even Leona believed his story. I had a hard time
setting the story straight.
We were sitting in the chiefs quarters discussing our up coming trip to Hong Kong.
Someone wondered if Mary Soo would be out to the ship to pick up the garbage and
paint the ship. Our cook said he thought Mary Soo was dead. When we got into Hong
Kong, Mary Soo was standing on the pier at Fleet Landing. She ran up to the cook
and said "Why you tell I died?" To show him she was really alive, she invited him to
dinner, saying with a laugh "I don't give you Montrose garbage, I give you carrier
garbage. They had a fine dinner at a good restaurant. How she knew the cook had
said she died, I'll never know.
Going between ports we usually carried a thousand troops. Sometimes they were
replacements and other times they were there for training. We very seldom went
anywhere without troops, the exception would be going to Hong Kong. That was for
R&R for the crew. We needed it after hauling troops for months.
We left the States in January, it was now August and we were back. It had been a
long "six" month deployment. We went to the yard in Long Beach, so we had to
commute to San Diego to be with our families. I put in my papers, requesting
retirement for June.
The Montrose was to make a practice landing, called Operation Silver Lance, at
Oceanside. We picked up marines at Pearl Harbor, bringing them to San Clemente.
We formed up there with other ships and started to land the troops when we received
orders to stop and backload the troops. The war in Viet Nam had escalated. We
returned the troops to Pearl Harbor. Picking up new troops, we took them to Okinawa
to replace troops that had been sent to Viet Nam. Our three week operation had
turned into three months.
My time was getting short. The Captain tried to convince me I was too young to retire
from the navy, but this last operation convinced me it was time to get out. June 18,
1965 I was transferred to the Fleet Reserve and I was piped off the ship, with the
remaining chiefs as my side boys. As I reached the pier, I heard the call to set the
special sea detail. That was one call that I didn't have to answer and it felt strange,
but I knew that I did the right thing. My career in the Navy was over.
equipment. At meal time, the tables on the mess deck would be raised and the troops
ate standing up. That was so they wouldn't get too comfortable and would clear the
area as soon as they were done eating. Their bunks were seven high in some
quarters.
I was the first Master Chief on the ship. I relieved a warrant officer. Having an
enlisted man replacing an officer didn't go too well with the other officers and t hey
didn't know how to treat me. I did my job and stood my watches like the other chiefs
and every thing worked on me.
The ship was scheduled for a FRAM (Fleet Rehabilitation And Modernization) and of
course, it would be in San Francisco, not our home port of San Diego.
Once the ship was in the yard, all hands were moved to an APL (floating barracks).
The ship was completely shut down; boilers and engines were overhauled, air
conditioning was installed in the living quarters and reading lights were put on all the
bunks. The mess deck was redone as well as the galley. We were busy checking
and approving the yard work as it was completed. On long weekends, which was
about once a month, I would fly to San Diego to see my family. The four month yard
period went by pretty fast and soon we were on sea trails and underway training.
After a few practice landings with troops, we would be on our way to West Pac, for a
six month deployment.
Jim Garvey reported aboard shortly before we shipped out. We immediately became
friends. He was from Boston, my friend Russ was from there, too. I must have a
"thing" with people from there.
On arriving at Pearl Harbor, Jim suggested we go to the Willows restaurant in
Honolulu. It was very nice. We ate in a large outdoor, garden area. Ducks wandered
in and out between the tables and koi ponds. The restaurant was famous for its mile
high coconut cream pie. After finishing our meal, we ordered their famous pie, only to
be told that there wasn't any left. So much for their pie! The next time we were in
Pearl, Jim said "Let's go to the Chinese restaurant again" I said "We never went to a
Chinese restaurant." He said "Sure we did, the We Lo". That's what we called it from
then on. We had a fine dinner that night, but again they were out of mile high coconut
cream pie. On our last trip to Pearl, we again went to the We Lo, again no pie. Jim
asked the waiter, "How do we get the famous mile high coconut cream pie?" The
waiter replied, You have to order it when you make your reservation." We never did
get back to order the pie. Years later, Leona and i were celebrating our 50th wedding
anniversary in Honolulu. We found the Willows restaurant. It was now under new
management and was truly a Chinese restaurant. We looked at their menu, no mile
high coconut cream pie; so we went to the Crouching Lion restaurant and I finally got
my pie! No reservations required.
Jim and I made our liberties together. We stayed clear of the waterfront beer joints.
He said "It costs only a little more to go first class." We would go to fine restaurants
and sightsee places that sailors seldom got to. When the ship was in Kobe, Japan,
we took a train to Osaka for a weekend. People there were not used to seeing navy
men. One person asked what four gold stripes on a sleeve meant. Jim said those
would be captain's stripes. The man then said, in broken English, "You captains?"
pointing to our hashmarks. We let them think we were captains and had a great
weekend.
The Montrose was busy with practice landings, several were made at White Beach,
Okinawa. Sometimes there would be liberty after the exercise was completed. There
was really nothing at White Beach, so we would go to Kadina Air Force Base near
Naha. There was a nice NCO club at the base. On our way, we passed a rock
formation that looked somewhat like a monkey. It was a few miles in the distance and
I made the mistake of wondering, out loud, how a person could get to Monkey Rock.
Jim told me how to do it, "You go to Monkey Rock Road, on to Monkey Rock Creek,
which is a tributary of Monkey Rock River, cross on Monkey Rock River/Creek Bridge.
He went on and on, thank God we got to the base before his story ended on how to
get to Monkey Rock.
We took troops in to Pusan, Korea. There was no liberty for the electricians. We
were responsible for the movies. We picked them up at the movie exchange, showed
them and then returned them to the exchange. Somewhere, someway, one of the
films disappeared, perhaps stolen. They were valuable on the black market. We
were all restricted to the ship until the film was returned. (the missing strawberry
syndrome) We never found the films, perhaps it left with the troops. After we left
Korea the restriction was lifted with no further action.
Promotions came in while we were in Subic Bay. The fellows in engineering who made
new rates, bought a pig in Olongapo. A Philippino family roasted it for them and they
put on a regular luau. All the engineers were invited. It was quite a party, better than
handing out cigars.
While at Subic, Jim and I went into Olongapo for dinner. Jim liked gin. Only locally
made gin was available and Jim had a couple of drinks of it. We were walking past a
restaurant when Jim said he thought he was going to be sick and running around the
corner of the building, he threw up. Then he noticed that he was standing in front of a
large window. People were looking out, their dinners ruined. Jim retreated. Back at
the ship he told the story, only in his story I was the one who threw up in front of the
restaurant window. For a long time, even Leona believed his story. I had a hard time
setting the story straight.
We were sitting in the chiefs quarters discussing our up coming trip to Hong Kong.
Someone wondered if Mary Soo would be out to the ship to pick up the garbage and
paint the ship. Our cook said he thought Mary Soo was dead. When we got into Hong
Kong, Mary Soo was standing on the pier at Fleet Landing. She ran up to the cook
and said "Why you tell I died?" To show him she was really alive, she invited him to
dinner, saying with a laugh "I don't give you Montrose garbage, I give you carrier
garbage. They had a fine dinner at a good restaurant. How she knew the cook had
said she died, I'll never know.
Going between ports we usually carried a thousand troops. Sometimes they were
replacements and other times they were there for training. We very seldom went
anywhere without troops, the exception would be going to Hong Kong. That was for
R&R for the crew. We needed it after hauling troops for months.
We left the States in January, it was now August and we were back. It had been a
long "six" month deployment. We went to the yard in Long Beach, so we had to
commute to San Diego to be with our families. I put in my papers, requesting
retirement for June.
The Montrose was to make a practice landing, called Operation Silver Lance, at
Oceanside. We picked up marines at Pearl Harbor, bringing them to San Clemente.
We formed up there with other ships and started to land the troops when we received
orders to stop and backload the troops. The war in Viet Nam had escalated. We
returned the troops to Pearl Harbor. Picking up new troops, we took them to Okinawa
to replace troops that had been sent to Viet Nam. Our three week operation had
turned into three months.
My time was getting short. The Captain tried to convince me I was too young to retire
from the navy, but this last operation convinced me it was time to get out. June 18,
1965 I was transferred to the Fleet Reserve and I was piped off the ship, with the
remaining chiefs as my side boys. As I reached the pier, I heard the call to set the
special sea detail. That was one call that I didn't have to answer and it felt strange,
but I knew that I did the right thing. My career in the Navy was over.