And The Women Cried. Pt 1

And The Women Cried

It was one of those warm April mornings you get in the south. Clear skies and fair seas promised a good day to go to sea. People gathered in small familial clumps on the dock quietly kissing and clinging to their men and each other. A quiet whisper could barely be heard beneath the sound of the seagulls. Hundreds of women slowly crowded the gang plank still holding hands pushing rosaries and kerchiefs into their sweethearts palms as they parted with one more kiss. Their men ascended the gangplank as the sun broke over Charleston harbor. All of them in their dress whites. All except the duty crew who wore khakis and dungarees starched and pressed to perfection. Gear was stowed and the gangplank withdrawn. The men assembled into formation. The women watched quietly. My mother stood as quiet as she could though if you watched she was visibly shaking watching my father on the bow as he barked orders to cast off line and get under way.
As the sun rose from the water all hands stood at attention saluting the women who each searched their mans face to get a last look at their sailor. My father stood at his post all the way forward near the anchor chain. Straight and tall at attention he saluted his wife. Fighting her own emotions my mother forced a smile and waved, it was considered bad form in those days to not send a sailor off with a smiling face to remember. I, being the Navy brat I was, stood at attention barely managing to keep back the tears.
The loud speakers played the Star Spangled Banner, not their normal “go to hell” song as the ship slipped away from the pier. Each woman choking back tears in a stoic attempt to retain composure at least as long as their men could see and hear. The USS Glennon drew away slowly gaining speed with her characteristic permanent port list. The crowd on the pier kept very still in near silence though the low moans and those hiccups you get from holding back a scream were getting louder. No one moved away. All stood staring out to sea until the stern of the ship slipped over the horizon.
As a group they all broke in one horrible heart piercing wail. I don’t know if Angels can be slain. But if they can this must be what it would sound like. Receiving unspoken permission from the group they all poured forth in one continuous wailing for what seemed like a very long time. It was terrible to watch a thousand tear soaked women crying together staring at the empty sea.
Soon the Shore Patrol reluctantly began to move the crowd from the pier to send them home. If they didn’t move them some might have stayed sobbing and staring out to until shaken back to life.

I loaded my mother into the Beatle and started for home. The crying settled into sobbing and then into a fragile silence. My mother settling into the behavior expected of the wife of a Chief Boatswains Mate with 25 years. We had gotten soft. For four years my father was assigned to the USS Hunley. The giant ship was named Hunley after the Confederate sub lying on the bottom of the sea somewhere near Mount Pleasant. Like the sub it never went anywhere except for a regular cruise down the coast to dump heavy water out at sea. It was believed though not confirmed that when the Hunley went out the river mouth it had a polaris sub sitting directly underneath it. It never went out when there was any possibility of heavy weather. Of course a ship with an anchor chain that consisted of links weighing hundreds of pounds could see some pretty heavy seas before she felt threatened. A very comforting thought. Like driving a tank down the highway. Not much can touch it.
Before his tour of duty aboard the Hunley my dad was on the roll of a security agency. Sometimes pulling seemingly normal duty but doing abnormal things like the time we spent on Guam with him working in special services by day and running around the island’s back roads in a jeep carrying a shotgun and a .45 by night. Or working as liason with the Polizei in Germany while arranging to get certain scientists visa to the US expedited. Sometimes Dad would load a couple days uniforms in a bag along with a couple of pistols and disappear for a few days to a week to parts unknown and reappear with Spanish or African or Middle Eastern money in his pockets. Any of these assignments could have gotten him killed or worse. But this one was the most traumatic. Five years before he was assigned to duties that would keep him out of harms way and provide him with the opportunity for promotion to Chief before he retired.
But April of 1972 saw him on board the USS Glennon DD840 a ship with a port list, a number 1 gun that was so slow to turn that the whole ship was brought to bear when targeting with #1 gun. Number 1 gun had an old man with a beard, a nightshirt and a candle painted on it. Number 2 had a Tweetie bird painted on it because it screeched so bad, and there was some doubt about whether she could handle a near miss without bursting her seams. And they were headed to Vietnam to the firing line. The commies had started another one of their offensives and just about every combat capable ship that could be spared headed to Vietnam. Along with them went a lot of Marines and Seabees, Pilots etc.. Along with them went my Dad an aging Chief about to retire. The fear in our house was palpable.
This time we weren’t living in some Washington D.C. area township among civilians, the only family on several blocks with a loved one in harms way.
This time we were quartered in Menriv Naval Housing near Goose Creek.
It was a pretty new community. First class housing and landscaping and if you’re familiar with the military way you know there was everything from a bowling alley to a commissary and a military style chapel complete with chaplain. A little town within a town. A little town filled with combatants. Every body had a dog in this hunt.
On March 30 1972 the NVA got a wild hair and assembled all their tanks and equipment and charged south. There was already a group poised on the border of Vietnam having moved through Laos and Cambodia. That group moved through near An Loc trying to split the country and the northern group came south to try to retake the ancient capitol of Hue. They were stopped dead after just a short offensive. They were denied an effective guerilla campaign because of the destruction of the V.C. in South Vietnam after Tet ’68 and subsequent trouble recruiting new V.C. . The Ho Chi Trail was buzzing just north of the DMZ where it came close to the sea well within the reach of the 5” 38 guns on the Glennon. The heavy overcast slowed the use of air power at first. Massive sea power moved in.
The Glennon exited Charleston harbor and joined with the Mullinnix, the Dipple, and the Sarsfield. The four destroyers headed south to the Panama Canal.
The atmosphere at home was quiet, one of those quiets you knew better than to break. Any noise at all may be greeted with a crying jag of indeterminate duration. Nervous silence was demanded. The truth of the matter was that fleeing the house was to no avail the whole housing area was enveloped by the very same “Mal de Esprit”. As though with the departure of the Glennon a grey filter had been pulled down and the world was all shades of grey.
Daily chores and school getting ready for the summer break and the traditional Junior beach party quickly brought us back to near normal. After all our Dads didn’t fly in they would be a while getting there. About a week out we realized that they had just passed the Panama canal and were heade for Hawaii. We visited each others house and watched the war on Tv to see what was happening, at least for a while. We knew that it would be pointless to send any mail before they hit Vietnam because the mail would only chase them all the way there at worst or they would catch up with it in Subic. We got the letters and cards from “Pearl”, Midway, Guam. Then Subic that was the big one. The mood so heavy before had gotten much lighter. I think the time combined with nothing to worry about but a couple of Pacific storms sets you at ease. Then the Subic. From there the short hop across The South China Sea to the firing line and the largest amphibious landing since Inchon and Fuson. Our housing area was heavily invested in this battle and we again held our collective breaths.
But in the mean time we realized there was no reason to worry for a couple of weeks. The mood among the naval dependents became more relaxed for a short while and we turned our energies to one more hurrah. The Goose Creek High school Junior / Senior spring beach party was a resounding success. The weather was perfect, unusually warm and sunny, and the surf while not large was still respectable and surfable and we got plenty of liquor smuggled in past the chaperones. We played volleyball, surfed any wave we could, had a world class clambake and had the best beach party since Frankie and Annette. Plenty of hangovers and second degree sunburns were had all around.
Then the mail arrived from Subic and we knew that within a couple of days the last few destroyers would be joining the firing line. Some of ours were already on the ground and some others were yet to land but even the rest who would stay on board still were in danger. Handling and firing huge amounts of ammunition and explosives. Attacks from Migs and shore batteries were all dangerous especially in a lightly armored ship like a destroyer. Any ship disabled and left unattended too long would drift on the prevailing current into the North Vietnam coast. Navy families understood and we were concerned. Especially for the Glennon. Even The Charleston Evening Post had expressed concern about the state of non battle readiness of the Glennon.
On the 13th of May ‘72 the little group of four joined over 40 other destroyers on the firing line.

Note: Certain names and details have been changed for obvious reasons.