Coasties My Service in the United States Coast Guard, 1952-1986 By Captain Richard H. Wight, USCG (Ret.) TABLE OF CONTENTS FORWARD: COASTIES CHAPTER ONE: SEMPER PAR CHAPTER TWO: FIRST ASSIGNMENT: USCGC WINONA (WPG 65), SPRING, 1952 CHAPTER THREE: RADIO SCHOOL, JULY–DEC 1952 CHAPTER FOUR: USCGC NORTHWIND (WAGB 282), JAN 1952-JUNE 1955 CHAPTER FIVE: ET SCHOOL, TRANCEN GROTON, JULY 1955-JAN 1956 CHAPTER SIX: USCGC WACHUSETT (WPG 44), FEB-JUNE 1956 CHAPTER SEVEN: SPRUCE CAPE LORAN STATION, JUNE 1956-JUNE 1957 CHAPTER EIGHT: OFFICER CANDIDATE SCHOOL, JUNE-NOV 1957 CHAPTER NINE: USCGC ACTIVE (WSC 125), NOV 1957-SEP 1959 CHAPTER TEN: FIRST DISTRICT STAFF, SEP 1959-APR 1961 CHAPTER ELEVEN: LORAN STATION ESTARTIT, SPAIN, APR 1961-APR 1962 CHAPTER TWELVE: RCA INSTITUTE, NEW YORK, MAY 1962-MAY 1964 CHAPTER THIRTEEN: USCG HEADQUARTERS ELECTRONIC DIVISION, MAY 1964-SEP 1968 CHAPTER FOURTEEN: USCGC MINNETONKA (WHEC 67), SEP 1968-JULY 1970 CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ELEVENTH DISTRICT STAFF, SEP 1970-JUNE 1972 CHAPTER SIXTEEN: USCGC CONFIDENCE, JULY 1972-JULY 1974 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SEVENTH DISTRICT, ELECTRONICS ENGINEERING BRANCH CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: USCGC CAMPBELL (WHEC 32), JUNE 1977-JULY 1979 CHAPTER NINETEEN: SEVENTEENTH DISTRICT STAFF, JULY 1979-OCT 1980 CHAPTER TWENTY: THE LAZARUS EFFECT EPILOG 1 APPENDICES APPENDIX A: TIMELINE AND ASSIGNMENTS APPENDIX B: PHOTOGRAPHS APPENDIX C: “Cutter Rides Out Wild Night in Canal,” Port Angeles The Daily News article (18 February 1979). APPENDIX D: NAUTICALISMS (“HEAR YE” & “PROCLAMATION”) APPENDIX E: “An Aside – The Coast Guard Officers Promotion System and My Confusing Experiences with It.” 2 “COASTIES” FORWARD These writings cover the 32 years of my active service in the U.S. Coast Guard, from early 1952 until mid 1986. The people I served with over those years were fascinating to me, and perhaps of interest to others as well. There were experiences and occurrences which speak to humor, ineptness, arrogance, failure and other human frailties - and sometimes incredible displays of honor, devotion to duty and professionalism. I found my service with other “Coasties” to be overall uplifting and worthwhile. I always felt that the Coast Guard people with whom I served, military and civilian, often - no, usually - performed their duties with a degree of dedication that is hard to explain. This is particularly true of the “one-hitch” Coasties that made up the bulk of the active service. True, there are multi-generation traditions of Coast Guard professionals. The Midgetts and Grays of the Carolina Outer Banks are among them. There are many father-son examples - Admiral Ed Roland and his sons Bill and Allen, Rear Admiral “Ric” Ratti and his son Steve, Rear Admiral Ed Nelson and his son Darrell, Rear Admiral Robert Durfey and his son Bob are a few whom I knew during my service years. I stumbled into joining the Coast Guard on what can best be described as an adolescent whim rather than any “calling” to a high profession. A teenage friend of mine was contacted by a Coast Guard recruiter in late 1951, telling him he was likely to be drafted any day, and that foot-soldier duty in Korea was probably less desirable than an enlistment in the Coast Guard. I accompanied this friend to see the recruiter, mainly out of curiosity, and he proved to be a convincing fellow indeed! I was 5 months shy of my 18th birthday, and it took some “doing” to convince my father to sign a “permission to enlist” document. But he finally did, and I officially enlisted on January 4, 1952. So did my friend. In retrospect I may have been predestined to join a military service and become a career officer. Back in late 1945 or early 1946 (I was 11 or 12), my father and I 3 were boarders in the home of a wonderful lady whom I recall only as Mrs. Wright. She had a reputation as a clairvoyant, though she steadfastly (and good­ naturedly) refused to “tell my fortune” each of the many times I pleaded with her. Finally, one day she agreed to “read the tea leaves“ for me. She prepared tea in a pot, poured some into a cup, and drained the liquid leaving a residue of wet tea leaves at which she stared intently. She told me only two things. First, I would receive a large package in the mail within a few days. I did, though there was no birthday or other similar event in the offing. She also told me I would make my profession wearing an eagle on my hat. I didn’t quite understand, at least not then. A dozen years later it seemed to make sense! But whatever twist of fate led me to the Coast Guard doesn’t matter all that much. To me, I was blessed with the opportunity to serve in that fine outfit. It was, to me, more than just a “line of work.” Richard Wight, CAPT USCG(ret 4 CHAPTER ONE SEMPER PAR The bus, a rattling relic, apparently a Navy cast-off, bounced across the low bridge to Government Island, a small patch of flat property in the harbor at Alameda, California. Several young men in sailor’s garb, but with leggings like infantrymen, waved and jeered at the 40-odd of us gawking out each side of the ancient vehicle. We could hear snatches of their taunts. “Your ass belongs to the Coast Guard!” “You’ll be sorry!” “Mama can’t help you now!” I didn’t care much. I was tired!! We’d had a tough two days, the dozen of us who’d come from Washington State. We had arrived in Seattle in early afternoon, on a cold blustery day just after New Year, and were met by a blasé and officious Coast Guard petty officer who swore us in as recruits. He issued us meal tickets, YMCA room chits and train tickets to Oakland, California. That night we rambled the city, feeling adult and dramatic, on the verge of a new and urgent change in our lives. At age 17, I thought I was pretty well up to it - if I could just figure out what “it” was! We didn’t sleep much that night, trying to find someone who’d serve us a beer, looking for one of “those places” where “women of the trade” were - trying to act out how we THOUGHT we were supposed to act!! Nothing much happened, but we didn’t get to sleep until way past 3 a.m.! We were on the train headed south by late afternoon the next day. Not much sleep that second night either, in a sleeper car full of guys mostly away from home for the first time, and nearly all under 20 years old. Some recruits boarded in Tacoma, some in Portland, maybe a few others further south in Oregon. Among those on the train were two fellows from my hometown - Marvin Grey, with whom I enlisted, and another fellow - Bill Tracy - who was a year ahead of me in high school. We disembarked the train in Oakland on January 5, 1952. The bus lurched to a stop in front of a long barracks building. A slender young fellow in traditional Navy enlisted blue uniform, but wearing olive drab leggings, boarded the bus. “Fall out!” he shouted. Some of the guys looked bewildered, 5 and I permitted myself an inward smirk at their stupidity. I scrambled into the aisle and headed for the exit, one of the first to hit the asphalt parking lot. The young “Coastie”, perhaps a seaman recruit himself, more or less herded us into a formation of three ranks and told us to stand fast. A buzz of whispering and low conversation raged for a minute or two, mostly speculation on what came next! We fell silent. A broad-shouldered man, dressed in khaki with a billed hat, walked briskly down the barracks porch steps and toward us. He halted in front of us, strangely silent, looking back and forth at our loose formation. I felt sweat running! He cleared his throat. “You are the moteliest, milk-sopping, most degenerate looking bunch of unkempt civilian marijuana-smoking, mother-loving, daddy- aping, beer drinking, idiotic looking pieces of inept children I’ve seen since I got to this place!” He glared at us, hands on hips, and strode back and forth in front of us for what seemed like an eternity. “But you are in luck!” he bellowed. “I, Chief Malone, will lead you! You are about to become Coast Guardsmen, those of you who are worthy! Pay attention!” With that, he turned to the young sailor who herded us from the bus, and said, “Take charge!” The chief marched briskly back into the barracks. Later on, I realized he’d tongue-lashed us pretty good, but hadn’t used one word of profanity! So started my Coast Guard career. Chief Malone was in charge of the “forming” barracks where a new company of recruits - “boots” we were called - were processed into the service, issued uniforms and other equipment, given physical exams, and taught a bare minimum of rules designed to keep us in line and out of trouble. We didn’t see a lot of “The Chief” in the few days he had us in his charge- but from time to time he appeared, silent and observing, and his presence awed us. But mostly we saw the young Coastie who first greeted us, the barbers who shaved our heads, the seemingly-bored enlisted men who issued uniforms and showed us how to stencil our names on them with black or 6 white paint.