Master Chief (35 page)

The next day, I called a Filipino friend over and gave him three of the quarters. He told me to be sure to rinse the hindquarter with vinegar before cooking to eliminate the “doggie” flavor. However, I knew better. I had eaten dog meat fresh cooked out of a wok within minutes after a dog’s death. While I was a PRU adviser in 1969, a few of us had passed through a Vietnamese hamlet on our way back to Rach Gia. It had been a long day and everyone was absolutely famished. With that in mind, one of the PRU commandeered a dog for our dinner and was leading the young and tender canine from the village with a bit of twine that had been tied around his nearly hairless neck. He justifiably received a severe tongue-lashing from the dog’s owner, a young mother. Apparently, the dog was a coveted pet of the lady’s family, for, as we departed, the dog and the kids were protesting and crying. Once we reached the bush, the PRUs butchered and cooked the dog, broken bones and all, in an aluminum wok over a small fire. Because we had no water, we chased the
delicacy down with Vietnamese
ba xi de
rice whiskey. It was an experience I shall never forget.

On the day of the party, Randy, Jim, and I had a blast competing with my target air pistol and air rifle. Randy did well, but eventually lost to Jim and me. However, the matches between Jim and me were tough. We continually had ties until, luckily, I won out. Shortly afterward, the main dish was served. All three of us agreed that I had cooked the best “venison” that any of us had ever eaten anytime or anyplace. At the end of the meal there was only the bone left to give to Lady, my Lab. Like my two mates, Lady unwittingly enjoyed the thigh bone of her lover—the eighty-pound German shepherd. Approximately one month later, I told Randy and Jim the truth about the fait accompli. However, to this day, neither of them has accepted the fact that they had enjoyed eating a two-year-old German shepherd’s hindquarter.

By January 1981 I had moved into the BEQ (Bachelor Enlisted Quarters) and was attending the U.S. Army’s Sergeants Major Academy’s Class 17 with approximately 250 men and women from the Army and Marine Corps and fifteen other squids. Before I graduated in July, I was forced to burn a lot of coal oil during the evening hours studying for and attending two mandatory college courses. However, life was not always mundane—we usually found time to have fun, even during class.

Surprisingly, the academy’s policy toward physical exercise and activity was very good, and required all students to partake of it in one form or another. I had volunteered to lead the biweekly PT and run simply because I preferred that to riding bicycles or playing tennis. Eventually, there was a group of us, including an Army Airborne Ranger (M.Sgt. Thomas M. Cruise), a very good male Marine 1st Sgt. (David R. Robles), a female Marine (1st Sgt. Dolores D. Johnson), and one Navy master
chief (Jimmy E. Cox), who attended, plus others. All of us had a good time, and occasionally, after our PT and run, we retired from the 100-degree-plus heat to the club, where we enjoyed a couple of ice-cold ones to normalize our metabolisms.

In February, while I was in the First Group Life, I and all of Class 17 had the privilege and honor of shaking General Omar Nelson Bradley’s hand. Prior to his death on April 8, 1981, it had been the general’s policy to give a “Welcome Aboard” speech to each class and shake every student’s hand. We were the last academy class to have that great privilege. General Bradley had truly dedicated his life to serving his country, and did so with great character, diligence, and honor. While I was attending the First Group Life, I gained two good friends: M.Sgt. Charles E. McCain and M.Sgt. “Deacon” Exnelianle Holmes.

Later that month, I was promoted to master chief petty officer (E-9) and became the senior student during my Second Group Life. Sgt. Maj. Robert W. Hale was an outstanding admin’er/staffer and group leader, with a unique sense of humor. M.Sgt. James A. Robertson (MOS: 11 Bravo), a large, powerful man who called himself “Whop-a-Ho” and claimed to be half Italian and half Arapaho, had been the senior man until I was promoted to master chief. We had a hilarious special ceremony, in which SGM Hale ensured that Robertson passed his symbolic hat to me as the group’s newest senior man.

It was during the Second Group Life that one of our multitalented classmates, M.Sgt. Adrian Garcia, demonstrated his specialty of dry humor. One Monday morning, shortly after Adrian had arrived at our classroom, he made a comment to the group that he had observed a phenomenon that appeared to happen regularly on the El Paso freeways on Sunday mornings. “You know, I have noticed during the
last several Sunday mornings that while the whites are going to church, the Mexicans and their jalopies are broken down on the freeways, and the blacks are being taken to jail!” Everyone laughed at Adrian’s insightful observations; but no one volunteered any comments.

Another morning just before class started, Adrian offered me some beef jerky to go with my hot cup of coffee. I gratefully accepted. After I had finished eating it, Adrian pulled out another that was still in its wrapper and handed it to me. Without saying a word, Adrian pointed at the labeling. I read the small print and discovered that I had been eating dog food. With a deceitful heart and evil motives, I leaned over to my amigo and whispered, “Let’s not be selfish. This unique jerky must be shared with our classmates.”

Adrian chuckled, and with a gleam in his eye, pulled out a handful of jerky from his khaki pocket. It then dawned on me that my amigo had planned this ruse. I could see that Adrian had learned his Intelligence Specialist trade well. While eating the jerky ourselves for bona fides, the two of us cunningly passed out the left-handed jerky. Within a few minutes the whole class, including Sergeant Major Hale, was busily chewing away at the dog food and chasing it down with our typically weak, aluminum-flavored, military coffee.

During the next class break, Adrian and I broke the news to them that we had easily manipulated them into eating dog food. Naturally, they all denied our revelation until we told them to read the jerky’s wrapping for themselves. A couple of the guys stopped chewing and started lip-synching the words of the label as they read silently. Gradually, as the truth revealed itself, some of our classmates started having stomach problems. While the better part of the Second Group Life lamented, my amigo and I openly rejoiced and cheered at the success of our ignoble ruse.

“Nonhackers,” Adrian teased as a couple of the guys,
who seemed to be suffering from a form of male morning sickness, spit out the remnants of the substance into the trash can.

All went well until I noticed that the large master sergeant, Robertson, wasn’t laughing, and had started giving both of us the evil eye. Our timing must have been wrong, I thought as I moved closer to my escape route—the classroom door.

Robbie commented satirically, “You two guys have gone to the dogs.”

There was some truth in what he said. I had begun to perceive that Robbie was contemplating grabbing us by our stacking swivels and thrashing the thunder out of us both. With a sense of urgency, I nudged Adrian and said, “Avast! It’s time to cut the moorings of our dinghy and catch the rising tide to get beyond the harbor bar and into deeper waters. The strong winds of revenge are drawing ominously near.”

Adrian nodded and mumbled, “You’re right, my friend, the water under our keel is too shallow and it promises to get much rougher. I must do something quickly,” indicating that he had accurately interpreted the savage’s body language. With that, Adrian lost no time offering an apology that was intended to create sympathy and give us additional time to maneuver and to collect our thoughts. Initially, my amigo tried to justify our deceitful ruse inthe minds of our classmates, especially the big chief, with the following reasoning:

“It’s okay guys.… This jerky is good and safe to eat. I’ll give you four good reasons why. Reason number one, some of my kinfolks are from Mexico and we eat this jerky all the time. I bought a whole box of it for my family in Juarez the other day while it was on special. Reason number two: dog meat is cheap. Reason number three: it’s not so bad after you get used to it.” Pointing to me, Adrian
continued, “And finally, reason number four: just ask Smitty, he’s eaten dog meat in Vietnam and in California several times and swears that German shepherd is the best meat he’s ever eaten. How do you like us so far, amigos?”

The choleric Master Sergeant Whop-a-Ho Robertson saw through our duplicity, recognized us as rattlesnake liars, and started toward the then-defunct Garcia/Smitty duet with body language that left no doubt as to the outcome—scalpings, boiling in a pot, and cannibalism. I tried subterfuge by offering Robbie the token position of “Senior Man” of the group, but got no response other than the stink-eye.

Suddenly, I remembered what Sir Walter Scott had said: “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!” The truth of our humorous scheme had been received with scorn, we had failed in our professional fields of cunning and deception, and worst of all, we were undone by a mere Neanderthal.

Fortunately, our omniscient Sergeant Major Hale recognized that we were hors de combat and came to our rescue by putting on his genuine general’s hat, which represented his sovereignty, and reconvened the class in a timely fashion. Actually, there was a second reason we were thankful that Sergeant Major Hale had placed the general’s hat over his balding pate: the reflection of the sun’s rays off his slick dome had forced most of us to wear sunshades in the classroom to filter out the worst of the glare.

The dog-food incident and other occasions that revealed defective traits of specific members of the Second Group Life soon earned us the sobriquet of “Hale’s Warthogs.”

Prior to Class 17’s graduation in July, I had to reenlist again for the final time of my career. Colonel Joseph Ostrowidzki, commandant of the academy, performed the ceremony in his office.

Once I had reported aboard EOD School at Indian Head, Maryland, for additional diving training, EOD refresher, and basic nuclear weapons disposal training, I was immediately placed in a student diving class. For the next few weeks I found myself back in the old MK-V deep sea diving rig, crawling around on the bottom of the Potomac River performing a variety of tasks.

When I completed my MK-V refresher training, I was instructed in the use of the new MK-1 surface supplied diving apparatus that was replacing the old Jack Brown shallow water system. The main difference between the two was that the Jack Brown system was limited to a maximum depth of sixty feet, versus 130 feet—extended to 190 feet with a bail-out bottle—for the MK-1. Also, an optional advantage of the MK-1 was that it could be used with mixed gas.

After the MK-1 training, I was instructed in the use of the new MK-12 surface supplied deep sea diving
apparatus that was replacing the old MK-V (Hard Hat) system. I especially appreciated that the MK-12 designers had engineered a new deep sea diving apparatus that was much lighter, the MK-12 weighing approximately thirty-five pounds total, including the hat, boots, and lead weights. The old MK-V’s basic weight was 190 pounds, and the mixed-gas version weighed 290 pounds. Lastly, I received refresher training in the MK-VI mixed-gas scuba diving apparatus.

During the EOD refresher training, my Navy class reviewed aircraft explosive hazards, conventional ground and air munitions, nuclear weapons, improvised explosive devices, and underwater ordnance. We also received a special training section that was dedicated to improvised nuclear devices: their identification, location, access and interface with other military, federal, and civilian agencies involved in INDs.

After I graduated from the difficult eight-week basic nuclear weapons disposal phase in October and November, I was again on the road to EOD Group 1’s Detachment Whidbey Island, located at the upper end of Puget Sound on the Naval Air Station, Whidbey Island, Washington.

The EOD (Airborne) Detachment consisted of CWO3 Clark L. George (Gunner), who was the OIC, with BMCM Jim R. Collins as the AOIC, ABH1 Tony C. Tennyson, and I.

In December 1981, EOD Detachment Whidbey and Detachment Keyport (Indian Island) were called to support the Sheriff’s Department of King County in locating a downed aircraft suspected of being in Lake Youngs, one of the more important reservoirs for the city of Seattle. The Seattle officials were especially concerned about the potential pollution to their reservoir.

The Naval Undersea Warfare Engineering Station’s
December 18, 1981,
Keynotes
semimonthly newspaper told the events of the story as follows: