Part II…The Return
Mercifully we took in all lines and
sailed toward the claw of Haiti to rendezvous with CGC THETIS to take 183
migrants of their deck. This was
the easy part; get the migrants, bring them back to Cuba, and wait for someone
to take them. My experience with
Haiti was limited to TV reports and stories from other Coasties. I assumed they were not that smart,
didn’t have much pride, not clean, basically not a fine people. I couldn’t have been more wrong. We had a reasonably uneventful transfer
with the 270 and started a slow steam back. Although at one point during the transfer the deck was a wee
bit unorganized and the Captain polity requested (read: ordered) that our XO
get below and take charge. This
was a Mastercard-esque moment…the look on XO’s face was priceless.
The migrants on deck were from the
same village and made every effort to recreate some semblance of order. They made an area for families with
kids, asked for paper and pens and made meal tickets to ensure everyone
received a meal, and at night sang songs together. Someone produced a bible and they seemed have an organized
study group every night. One
gentleman came forward who spoke passable English and assumed the role of de
facto leader. When some of the
younger men, late teens early and twenties acted up and tried to cut in line,
the group policed themselves.
Every morning they had their own version of sweepers to keep the deck
clean, when the realized that the showers were saltwater, they respectfully
asked for freshwater for bathing.
Even though we had limited water the Captain decided to grant their
request.
This experience was quite the
lesson learned for a young junior officer named Dow. Families with small children, pregnant women, men older than
my grandfather all tried to escape in an unseaworthy sailboat…risk everything
to get away from Haiti. Nothing in
my mind could comprehend what would drive other people to such ends. I then realized I had truly been an ass
making the assumptions I did.
These were a fine group of people only wanting to improve their lives
and provide a better one for their children. How is that not an admirable trait, yet here we were
preventing them from coming to the United States and sending them back. It was one of those trips.
We made it back to GTMO and tied up
to old battleship quays (pronounced “keys” by the way don’t blame me, I’m not
Webster). We were not ashore per
se…we could secure the mains (turn off the engines) but no brow, no access to
the base. Unfortunately we needed
more supplies and a lot of them--quickly.
I was the XO’s Admin Assistant was
a kind way of saying I was his bitch boy…it wasn’t a glamorous jon—which meant
I was in for the task of my career…being a bitch boy and all…
The XO called me into the wardroom
to give me my quest, a pep talk, and a quick kick in the ass to get off the
boat.
“OK, here’s the list of things we
need. You have as much time as you
need. Good luck.”
I looked at the list:
· Enfamil…what
in God’s green earth is Enfamil?
· Diapers,
Depends…are you kidding me?
· Tarp
from SIMA…where in the hell is SIMA?
What the hell is SIMA?
· I
can’t even pronounce the name of this pump…(probably from Viking)
· Log
and weather sheets…no way, we ran out of log sheets?
· About
10 other items ending with…a parachute.
OK…enough!!
“XO, parachute…parachute, what the
**** do we need a parachute for, a parachute” hoping that repetition of the
word parachute would make it go away.
“The migrants.”
“Sir, I know the migrants, but what
are going to actually do with a parachute?”
“Shade.”
“Sir, what is the tarp from SIMA
(still don’t know where that it) for?”
“Shade.”
It was one of those trips.
All right I tried another line of
questions.
“Is the YN (yeoman…administrative
expert) or the SK (storekeeper…supply expert) coming in to help out?”
“Neither, too busy here, you are on
your own.”
Suppressing a sigh that probably
would have gotten me dismissed from the Coast Guard I asked “Well, how do I pay
for this stuff?” In my ensign
addled mind, a perfectly legitimate question.
“Yeah, about that…do your
best…can’t help you there.”
You
got to be kidding me…
“OK, what radio can I get, probably
not one of the coded one, they…”
“No radio, can’t spare ‘em with the
security teams.”
It was one of those trips.
So, I went to the buoy deck, took a
little boat ride to the base on the RHI (rigid hull inflatable boat) and was
left on the pier by myself. No
money, no help, no radio, and when I asked about a government vehicle the XO
actually laughed out loud and left the wardroom shaking his head.
At this point I had little to no
idea what half this stuff was let alone where to get it. So I figured diapers and Depends were
the easiest…I’d just go to the exchange and maybe from there figure out where
the DRMO (supply depot) was located.
I had to walk—remember no vehicle—and after only an hour of aimless
wondering found a sign that lead to the exchange. It turns out that Enfamil is some obscure form of baby food
and not too far from diapers, Depends were easiest enough to find. And on the way out I passed the record
department (although records are pretty much extinct…it will always be the
record department to me). Well a
few weeks prior to our arrival U2 released Achtung Baby, their breakthough and
break away record (I was and still am partial to WAR….there best effort in my
mind)…well I am a slight U2 fan so I thought I’d pick up the cassette (yes
cassette, records, I am apparently old to these young bucks…). Well you wouldn’t believe the
consternation this caused while on my Quest for the Grail:
Is it legal for me to buy this
cassette?
Is it fair for me to get this and
no one else can?
What if someone finds out that I
used an official trip for personal business?
Wait…wait…wait a minute…I’m at the
exchange in GTMO Cuba buying BABY food, with my OWN money, and I have to find a
friggin’ parachute somewhere on this hell hole!!! Momentary moral dilemma solved…I bought the record and
couldn’t wait to get back and finally listen to it.
At this point I have exactly three
things on my albatross list (plus the cassette) and I am now forced to scramble
to locate various and sundry items, cold calling places by begging Navy offices
to let this Coast Guard ensign to use their phones. You should have seen THOSE conversations and better yet my
explanations:
“Hello, my name is ENS—“
“I don’t care, what do you want?”
“Yeah, OK, see I’m on the buoy
tender that—“
“What the hell is a buoy tender?”
Again with one of my patented self
contained sighs…stay focused here, killer.
“Yeah, here to help with the
Haitian migration issue, I just—“
“Kid, we are in Cuba not Haiti.”
And so on, it was one of those
trips.
So they day went on with my trying
find this conifal valve or that moondande converter. It got to the point where I would stash my loot in bushes
because I couldn’t carry it all.
At one point a van with three Coast Guard YNs passed me and gave me lift
(I don’t think they knew I was an ensign) and took me to SIMA of all
places. Tarp recovered!
Two items left. Log sheets and that damn
parachute. I had a buddy on
COURAGEOUS and was confident I could get the log sheets, but a parachute. I was asking, pleading, begging,
cajoling people all day and they looked at me with glassy eyes and told me to
trundle away. If this wasn’t
tilting at windmills nothing else was, but I felt a need to get this damn
parachute and return triumphantly to LAUREL.
One final call, one shot, a
warehouse on the edge of town, that no one goes to. The van YNs turned me on to this; kind of a recycling plant,
spare parts drawer, catch all building.
I got the number and went through my routine explaining to just get to
the phone and made the fateful phone call.
“Yeello” the voice on the other end
sounded bemused.
“Yes, I heard you carry some
miscellaneous supplies.”
“Yep, sure do.” He liked his “Y”s.
“Yeah, I need to get a, ahh, I was wondering
if you had a…well” here it goes…”a parachute.” I just expected to get humiliated by this.
“You are kidding me” here it comes…”can you be here in 10 minutes?”—very hushed
tones…shhhhhhh we are hunting saber toothed wabbits…
“You are serious? I’ll be right
there” like I could say anything else…even though I had no car, no
directions…you remember.
I somehow found my way to an
apparently abandoned looking warehouse that was clearly not abandoned. A gentleman wearing a greasy ball cap
and non-military coveralls sat behind a counter reading a year old issue of
Popular Something. He glanced at
me and asked:
“You have to be that ensign that
called. Your lucky day kid”
He had no idea.
He pulled out a crumpled paper
grocery bag that was in its at least 27th use and placed squarely on
the center of the counter. And
what to my wondering eyes did appear but a red and white parachute…queue the
“Hallelujah” music.
“How much?”
“Nothing…just got it and its not on
inventory.”
No way. “Thanks, man, you have no idea.”
It’s sad to say but to that point
in my career this was the crowning achievement (and looking back it may still
be). I still had to get the logs
but I spent the better part of eight hours on this base and got everything on
my list!
I went to COURAGEOUS, talked to a
friend of mine, got the logs and borrowed a radio. LAUREL sent over the RHI and with a landing party I gathered
up my hidden treasure to make my way back to the cutter. En route I called the bridge and asked
to talk to the XO.
“LAUREL, LAUREL 1…is the XO on the
bridge”
“Roger that.”
“Can you ask him to go to the
bridge wing?”
Our intrepid XO emerged from the
bridge in time to see me in the front of the RHI a la GEN Macarthur with the
parachute raised over head in Stanley Cup fashion.
“How’s this for a parachute…that’s
right….right here buddy…take this parachute and…” I said more but I wasn’t as
tough as I sounded…the XO couldn’t hear a word.
The supplies made it aboard…and the
parachute…never went to the buoy deck.
When I left mighty LAUREL eighteen months later I searched our cargo
hold for about six hours looking for that damn thing to take as a trophy. It was gone. It was one of those trips. On an interesting note I made the Captain’s Christmas newsletter…he mentioned that I had some untapped talents in “acquisitions” and
likened me trip as a cross between MASH and McHales’s Navy…I guess it was good
to be known for something!
There is more to the story about
LAUREL’s trek ashore and ringing the bell at the O-Club, but that my friends
is story for another day…
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