California Liberty

 California Liberty 

By Paul Davis 

I was just returning from evening chow after my eight-hour watch in the message center aboard the USS Kitty Hawk as the aircraft carrier launched aircraft from “Yankee Station” in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of North Vietnam in 1971. 

As I entered the Radio Communications Division's enlisted men's compartment, I heard Salvatore Lorino’s distinctive raspy, fast-paced voice. 

Lorino often visited me while we were on Yankee Station, partly because we were both from South Philly and became friends, and partly because he had two meth customers in the division. 

Lorino, a young hoodlum whom I knew slightly from the South Philadelphia neighborhood where I was raised, was several years older than I. He was about six feet tall, lean, with black hair, rugged features, and a long face with a perpetual lopsided grin that alternately charmed and menaced. 

Entering the compartment, I saw Lorino sitting in a folding chair across from Ingemi, Hunt and a couple of other sailors. The radiomen were laughing at a story Lorino was telling them. 

“Hey, Paulie, I was jes telling them about the time we went to the bullfights in TJ,” Lorino said as I sat down and listened to the story of our trip to Tujuana, Mexico. 

“We was out of Boot Camp for only three months, so we was jes a couple of “Boots” from South Philly when we went down to the border…” 

As he told the tale, I counted. Lorino got seven out of ten facts wrong.

 

While we were stationed in San Diego prior to setting sail for Southeast Asia, we were on three-section duty, which meant that Lorino and I had two out of three weekends off. I liked San Diego, especially Mission Beach, but I was not too fond of the honky-tonk bars that most of the sailors and Marines frequented in the downtown area. I preferred to visit the bars near the local colleges, where the girls were mostly from out of town, just like us.  

I also liked to visit Tijuana, which was just across the border from San Diego. I laughed as Lorino began his tale, recalling how Lorino rooted for the bull rather than the matador. At one point, Lorino stood up and shouted out to the bull, “Now! Get ‘em now!”  

The Mexican bullfight aficionados around us were not amused by the loco gringo, but the Kitty Hawk radiomen hearing the story certainly were. 

Lorino then launched into telling another liberty story. Lorino went on to tell the sailors in the compartment about the time we visited a club on Sunset Strip in Los Angeles. 

“We was in a club in LA and Paulie got us the two best looking girls in the place.” 

Lorino and I traveled in civies when we ventured to Los Angeles. I was fond of LA and liked the vibrant city’s nightlife, and I visited there previously on many of my free weekends. I liked to go to West Hollywood and hit the “happening” clubs on the mile and half of Sunset Boulevard that was known famously as the “Sunset Strip.” 

I told Lorino about the Strip and how it was home to trendy restaurants, sleazy bars and hip nightclubs. The Strip was a girl watchers’ delight and walking the Strip at night was like being part of a wild parade. Someone called the Strip a “cultural carnival.” 

I also liked the great rock music played at the clubs there and I liked dancing with the young, pretty girls. Growing up in South Philly, I had gone to teenage dances every weekend, so I knew that hitting the dance floor and dancing well was a good way to meet girls. 

Along with servicemen like Lorino and I, there were hippies, college students, tourists, music and movie people, and almost everything in between at the clubs. 

I wore my "civies" to the clubs, but unfortunately, like the other servicemen with regulation short hair, Lorino and I stood out from the young men who sported the longer hairstyles of the day. It appeared that the prettiest and most desirable girls shied away from military guys.

On the night Lorino was telling the Kitty Hawk sailors about, I asked an exceptionally good-looking college student named Susan to dance with me at a club on the Strip. She was a pretty, shapely blonde and she wore a loose blouse and tight dungarees.

“I like your high black boots,” I told her. “You can kick me if you want to.”

She laughed.

I spent a good bit of time with Susan on the crowded dance floor. Lorino grabbed Susan’s girlfriend and took her onto the dance floor as well. After a while, we took a break from dancing, and I bought Susan a drink at the bar. Lorino slid next to me with Susan’s girlfriend in his arms.  

Susan was a bit inebriated and giddy. I held her and she looked at me closely. 

I grinned, thinking this was a romantic moment and I was about to kiss her.

“Why do you have short hair?” Susan asked, stopping me from leaning in to kiss her. “Are in you in the military?” 

I just knew that my being in the Navy would be a “turn off” for her, so I thought fast. 

“No, but I don’t want to talk about it,” I replied sheepishly. 

“Why not?” 

“My hair is cut short because Sal and I just got out of San Quentin prison.” 

Her interest and imagination ignited, and she leaned into me and whispered, “Why were you in prison?” 

“We robbed a bank.” 

I heard Lorino behind me laugh. Susan nodded her head slowly, as if to say she understood. She then smiled, kissed me full on the mouth, and we returned to the dance floor. Lorino and I later took the two girls back to our hotel room. 

Apparently, this fresh-faced college girl was just fine with me being a bank robber and ex-con, but she would have surely bolted had I told her I was a sailor. 

Go figure.  

Thankfully, the girls in Olongapo had no such prejudice against sailors. 

 

On a roll, Lorino also spoke of the time we visited Disneyland in Anaheim, California. On that visit to Disneyland with Lorino, we dared to smoke marijuana openly, boldly, and quite stupidly, as we walked around the popular amusement park. 

On the Haunted Mansion ride we shared a joint in our continuously moving vehicle. At one point in the ride, the vehicle pivoted to the right before a mirror, and through Disney’s technological magic, a ghost appeared in the mirror between the reflection of Lorino and I. The ghost grinned and wrapped his arms around us.

Looking at the image between us in the mirror, I offered the joint to the ghost. I thought this was funny, and Lorino thought it was hilarious. 

The security guards monitoring the ride through the mirror were not nearly as amused. 

At the end of the ride, two security guards dressed as Western Sheriffs stopped our vehicle and ordered us to get out. 

“Are you part of the amusement ride?” I asked in jest. 

Lorino thought that too was hilarious. The guards remained unamused.         

The guards held us in a building until the Anaheim police arrived and took us into custody. We were handcuffed, placed in the police car and driven to the Anaheim police station. We were held in separate rooms. I was searched by an Anaheim police officer, and he confiscated the pocketknife I was carrying. 

I was worried about prison and getting kicked out of the Navy. Thankfully, the police officer took pity on me and told me that he was cutting me loose. He said he had been a Marine when he was a young guy, and he also did dumb things then. He told me to take off. 

I asked about Lorino, and the officer told me to “Get while the getting is good.”

I asked if I could have my knife back, and the police officer just stared at me in disbelief. I left the police station quickly and took a bus back to San Diego.  

Lorino later told me that he was arrested because he was holding more than an ounce of marijuana in a plastic bag in his pocket. He was held over the weekend and appeared before a judge on Monday morning. Lorino pled guilty to possession, was fined, and then released. 

Unfortunately for Lorino, the Kitty Hawk shoved off on Monday morning and the carrier went to sea while he stood before the judge. Lorino missed "ship's movement," which was a serious offense. Upon his return to the carrier, Lorino went before a Captain’s Mass and busted back to seaman apprentice and lost a month’s pay. 

I felt guilty that I was lucky to not be charged and “skated” through the incident, and left Lorino holding the bag, quite literally. Lorino shrugged and told me not to worry about it.

The sailors sitting around the compartment appeared to be quite amused at the pre-deployment adventures Lorino and I experienced.  

© 2025 Paul Davis 

Cabahug

 Cabahug 

By Paul Davis 

Joselito Cabahug was a scrawny Filipino criminal known to his cohorts as Duling, the Tagalog word for crossed-eyed. But no one dared to call him that to his face, as Cabahug was short-tempered and prone to violence when insulted or angered. 

He was born in Olongapo's Barrio Barreto in the Philippines with his eyes crossed. His poor family were unable to provide medical help for him. Despite his small stature, Cabahug grew up mean and tough and he struck out at anyone who dared to ridicule or tease him about his eyes. In time, his perpetually angry, twisted face and crossed eyes took on a truly sinister look that struck fear into people.   

Cabahug joined a youth street gang in Olongapo in the early 1960s and committed numerous petty crimes, eventually graduating to armed robbery. Due to his frightening looks and his penchant for violence, he rose to be the leader of the teenage gang. He was arrested and sent to prison for armed robbery, and his reputation grew substantially after he performed a contract murder in the prison for Homobono Catacutan. 

The Olongapo gang leader was impressed with the fearless and frightening young thug, and he used bribery to get Cabahug released from prison. Catacutan recruited him and used him as an enforcer for his "shabu" crystal meth business. Catacutan’s customers and rivals, and even the police, were hesitant to confront the gang leader when he had the demented and evil-looking Cabahug at his side.      

Cabahug often backed up the gang’s chief enforcer, Tibayan. The two ferocious killers were ordered by Catacutan to hand out beatings and to assassinate rivals, cheats and police informers. 

Cabahug became legendary in Olongapo when he hunted down two of Catacutan’s shabu dealers who were cheating the gang leader. Cabahug captured the two drug dealers and took them aboard a boat. At sea, he tortured the two until they gave up the whereabouts of their stash of money and drugs. He then stabbed them to death and tossed them overboard. The two mutilated bodies late washed ashore, and the word went out to the underground that Cabahug brutally murdered them. 

Sometime later, Cabahug murdered a bar girl who was suspected of being a police informer. Like the two cheating drug dealers, Cabahug tortured the young woman until she admitted she was talking to the police. Her ravaged body was dumped in front of a police station. 

Cabahug was high on Lieutenant Colonel Rosa’s list of criminals he wanted to bring to justice, but he was unable to get anyone to testify against the notorious killer.          

Bulan befriended Cabahug when he worked as a clerk in Catacutan’s grocery store. Cabahug, who had no true friends, appreciated that Bulan was not frightened of his looks and violent reputation, and the clerk appeared to genuinely like him. Bulan, thinking ahead, wanted the notorious killer on his side when he eventually made his move to take over the gang from Catacutan. Bulan promoted Cabahug after Catacutan was murdered. Bulan from then on had his own loyal bodyguard and killer. He later ordered Cabahug to kill his partner, Tibayan. 

Some years later, Bulan sat in the Ritz, suffering from the gunshot wounds from Salvatore Lorino, the American sailor from the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk, had inflicted on him. Bulan swore he would get revenge. He finally made up his mind on a course of action. He called over Cabahug and ordered him to find and kill the American sailor named Lorino.     

The following evening, as Lorino was in a hotel room with Jade, there was a knock on the door. Jade answered the door as Lorino lay in bed smoking a cigarette. Cabahug knocked Jade to the floor and rushed in. Thanks to his South Philly hoodlum instincts and criminal experience, Lorino saw Cabahug running in and he dove from the bed as Cabahug drove his Butterfly knife into the bed sheets. 

Lorino was quickly on his feet and grabbed the bedside lamp and smashed it against Cabahug’s head. Lorino was taken aback at the sight of the crazed, crossed-eyed intruder as Cabahug leaped from the bed, his knife in hand. Lorino backed into a wall and leveled a hard kick into Cabahug’s chest as the enforcer rushed in. Cabahug fell back on the bed and Lorino jumped on top of him and knocked the knife from Cabahug’s hand. Lorino brought down a slew of punches to Cabahug’s face. Lorino reared back his right hand and delivered a hard punch that stunned Cabahug for a moment. As Lorino stood up and took a breath, Cabahug recovered, leaped from the bed and ran out the door.         

Later that evening, Cabahug reported to Bulan that he failed to murder Lorino. Bulan looked at Cabahug’s bruised face and dared not reproach his chief enforcer. He simply told Cabahug to try again.    

At the Americano, Lorino told Walker about the attack. He told Walker that he and Jade were fine, although the girl was shaken. When Lorino mentioned that the attacker was crossed-eyed, Walker said, “Cabahug.” 

“Who?” 

“Joselito Cabahug, a thug who works for Bulan,” Walker said. “He’s a cross-eyed, crazy-looking bastard.”    

“I hit the motherfucker so hard, I think I might have uncrossed his eyes,” Lorino told Walker. “But he still got up and ran out the door.” 

Walker left the bar and walked over to Camama’s hotel to pass on to the Old Huk what Lorino told him about the murder attempt. The elderly gang leader had already been informed about the incident by one of his hotel clerks. Camama was furious that Bulan would dare to send the crazy killer Cabahug to his hotel to murder one of his American shabu dealers. Camama told Walker to have Duke Valle shadow Lorino for his protection. Lorino was a good earner for the Camama gang, and the Old Huk didn’t want anything to happen to him.  

The Old Huk turned to Sicat after Walker left and told his lieutenant to retaliate. Sicat nodded. Sicat and Coco Labrador, another veteran killer, roamed Olongapo hunting for Cabahug, but he appeared to go underground. But there were other targets, and the Old Huk approved of Sicat’s idea. 

Benigno Del Rosario was dapper, handsome and loquacious. He rose from being a waiter and bartender to become the Ritz’s popular manager. Del Rosario was in the Ritz working when one of his waiters told him that one of the bar girls was outside of the bar throwing up in the street. A hands-on manager, Del Rosario went outside to investigate. 

As Del Rosario stepped outside, Sicat and Labrador opened up on the bar manager and shot him multiple times. Del Rosario collapsed and died instantly. Sicat and Labrador ran down the street and leaped into a jeepney, which sped off.

Lieutenant Colonel Cesar Rosa came on the scene of the murder in front of the Ritz. Shooting people down in public in front of bars that drew in American sailors and their valued dollars was bad for Olongapo. Rosa and his officers interrogated witnesses. A bartender informed Rosa that a waiter had told Del Rosario that one of the bar girls was sick outside of the bar, which caused the manger to venture outside where he was shot and killed.

Rosa questioned the waiter, who at first denied he told Del Rosario anything. But when the waiter was dragged to the police station and harshly questioned, he confessed that Coco Labrador had threatened his family if he didn’t set up the bar manager. Rosa and his men sought out Labrador and arrested him at the Americano bar. At the police station, Labrador denied threatening the waiter and denied knowing anything about the murder. He also refused to implicate his boss, Sicat or the Old Huk. 

After Rosa left the interrogation room to urinate, Labrador punched the police officer guarding him. He took the officer’s sidearm and ran out of the interrogation room. Rosa encountered Labrador in the hall as he was fleeing, and Rosa pulled his sidearm from its holster and shot Labrador dead.      

Lorino spent the evening with Jade at the Americano. When the bar closed, Lorino and Jade left the bar and headed towards the hotel next door. Cabahug leaped from a jeepney and began firing at Lorino. Lorino pushed Jade to the ground and fell on top of her. Duke Valle came out of the shadows and shot Cabahug twice in the head. Valle placed the barrel of his gun under his nose and sniffed it like he saw so many cowboys do in the movies.          

When Bulan heard the news of Cabahug’s death, he gripped his knee in pain and cursed his luck. He did not grieve for Cabahug. Bulan would have to think of another way to pay the American sailor back. 

© 2025 Paul Davis 

'Missing Muster'

 Missing Muster

 By Paul Davis

As we were nearing the end of our WESTPAC (Western Pacific) 1970-1971 cruise, the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk was on station in the Gulf of Tonkin, launching aircraft that performed combat sorties against the North Vietnamese. 

On the deck just below the flight deck, I was shifting through copies of message traffic at my small desk in the Message Processing Center. I came upon a copy of a message to the carrier’s captain that solved a mystery that had haunted the officers and men aboard the carrier since the beginning of the cruise in November of 1970. What happened to Seaman Moore? 

Seaman Martin Moore was one of only a few casualties we had suffered on the cruise. Thankfully, all of pilots had returned safely to the aircraft carrier after bombing raids over North Vietnam. Unlike some of the pilots from our sister carriers, our pilots hadn’t been shot down and killed or taken prisoner. 

As I read the message, I recalled the frantic search for Seaman Moore as we sailed from Hawaii to the Philippines prior to reporting on “Yankee Station” in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of North Vietnam. 

Aboard the ship at sea, sailors were gathered periodically in groups and attendance was taken in what was called “musters.” Musters were held at various times to account for all of the nearly 5,000 crew members and airwing personnel. On the third muster at sea, it was reported that Moore was missing. He had been accounted for in the first two musters held while the carrier was at sea.   

On the assumption that he had fallen accidentally overboard into the sea, aircraft was launched to scan the Pacific Ocean and look for the missing sailor. The ship was also searched, compartment by compartment, looking for the sailor. It was thought that he was perhaps dead or dying somewhere or he was hiding on the carrier to avoid work. 

When two Marines showed up at the Message Processing Center, Chief John Helm would not allow them into the center to search for Moore. Despite the order from the carrier’s captain to search all spaces aboard the ship, the chief stopped the Marines from entering the center as they did not possess the proper clearances to do so. The chief was backed up by LTJG Albert Moony. 

As the Marines, Chief Helm and LTJG Moony had a standoff in the passageway outside of the top-secret center, a call was put into the Marine commanding officer, who in turn called the ship’s captain. Commander Thomas Larkin, an officer on the captain’s staff, showed up along with the Marine commanding officer. 

Chief Helm was adamant. 

“These Marines are not cleared to enter the Message Processing Center,” Helm said. “We can’t allow them in.” 

“The chief is right, Sir,” Moony added. “This is a high security area.”  

Larkin told Helm and Moony that he was cleared to enter the center. He offered to go in and search in lieu of the Marines. Helm, Moony and the Marine commanding officer agreed. Chief Helm punched in the four digits on the security panel that opened the door to the center.    

Larkin entered the Message Processing Center and walked around with Moony and Helm, holding a photo of Moore. He showed the photo to the sailors in the center and asked us if we had seen him. 

I glanced at the photo and noted that Moore looked a lot like Alfred E. Neuman, MAD magazine’s goofy cartoon character who sprouted “What me worry?” 

Moore, like Neuman, had a mop of reddish-brown hair, gap buck teeth, big ears and a silly grin. 

Satisfied that the missing sailor was not in the center, Larkin thanked Helm and Moony and left the center. 

As the captain ordered, the entire aircraft carrier was searched. Moore was not found, so he was reported as missing at sea and presumed dead from drowning.

 

But according to the Naval Investigative Service report I was reading, Moore was alive and well in Honolulu.                       

According to the NIS report, Moore had deserted the ship when the carrier sailed from Pearl Harbor in Hawaii to Subic Bay in the Philippines. 

With images of World War II naval combat in his head, with sailors being killed from Imperial Japanese fire and sailors drowning as ships were sunk, Moore was frightened that he would die aboard the carrier in devastating combat with the North Vietnamese. 

Apparently, he didn’t know that the 7^th Fleet aircraft carriers operated in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of North Vietnam in a battle group. The carrier was not only protected by the ship’s aircraft, the carrier was also protected by destroyers, a submarine and other defenses. The North Vietnamese shot at the carrier pilots flying over North Vietnam, but they didn’t dare try to attack the aircraft carriers at sea. 

Moore did not discuss his great fears with anyone. If he had, they might have told him this. By all accounts, Moore was a dim lad. 

The NIS report stated that as Moore was a loner and did not have much of a social life, so he was able to save a good bit of money. As the Kitty Hawk was preparing to leave Pearl Harbor, Moore failed to report back onboard. Wearing civilian clothes, he checked into a cheap Honolulu hotel and hid out. 

For many months, he ate little, bought little, and spent his days on the Waikiki beach, watching the pretty girls in bikinis. He watched the girls, but he was far too shy to approach them or dare to speak to them. 

Moore had not contacted his family back in Boulder, Colorado. He didn’t know that the Navy had reported his presumed death to his parents, as he had not given a thought to how the Navy would respond to his missing status.  

Moore’s stay in Honolulu ended after two local thugs beat and robbed him. The thugs punched and kicked him and ripped his well-worn shirt. They took the money he had in his shirt pocket. They left him on the beach unconscious. The police took him to a hospital and as he lay unconscious, the police checked his pocket and found his Navy ID. 

The Honolulu police reported the incident to the NIS and the NIS ran his ID and discovered that Moore was listed as missing at sea. When Moore awoke, he saw two NIS special agents at his hospital bedside. They questioned him, and he confessed that he had not reported aboard the Kitty Hawk prior to the ship's sailing out for the Philippines.  

When he was released from the hospital, Moore was taken into custody by the NIS and charged with desertion.  

Who reported Moore present in the first two musters, or why, remained a mystery.  

A Night At The Americano

 A Night at the Americano

 By Paul Davis 

As the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk was departing “Yankee Station” off the coast of North Vietnam in 1971 and sailing towards the U.S. Subic Bay naval base in the Philippines, Salvatore Lorino visited the Radio Communications Division’s berthing compartment. 

I just got of watch in the ship’s Message Processing center and as I entered the compartment, I saw Lorino talking to Mike Hunt, Dino Ingemi and a couple of other radiomen. Lorino jumped up from his chair and hugged me, South Philly style, as he called me his goombah, which in South Philadelphia Italian means a good friend. 

Although Lorino worked in the Deck Division, he often visited me and the other friends he made in my division. The radiomen in my division got a kick out of Lorino. His South Philly swagger, his perpetual lopsided grin, and his rapid, raspy voice amused the sailors. 

I was 18 years old at the time and Lorino was a couple of years older. Lorino, six feet tall, lean, with black hair and rugged features, was a meth dealer on the ship, and he had a couple of radiomen as customers. I had asked him not to deal drugs in my division, but his brief response was "Hey, business is business." 

It was not meth business, called “shabu” in Olongapo, that brought Lorino to the berthing compartment this time. Rather, he wanted to see me. He wanted to ask me to accompany him to the Americano bar in Olongapo when we docked in Subic Bay. 

I said no, as I enjoyed the Starlight bar and the company of Zeny, the beautiful Filipina hostess that I had been seeing. 

Mike Hunt suggested that I should visit the Americano to see what it was like there. 

“Scout it out for us,” Hunt said. “If you liked the bar, we’ll all go there.”  

“I’ll tell Zeny that you got the duty on the ship,” Ingemi said. “I’ll buy Zeny and Marlena drinks. That’ll keep the other guys away from Zeny.” 

The first night in port at Subic Bay, Lorino met me at the enlisted brow, and we walked together down the brow to the pier. Lorino was wearing a black T-shirt, jeans and black cowboy boots. Ever the clotheshorse, I was dressed in a black knit shirt, tan slacks and Italian black loafer shoes.  

We walked out the naval base’s gate, walked across the bridge over “Shit River” and strolled down Magsaysay Drive until we came to the Americano. 

When we stepped inside, I heard the Filipino house band playing country music, imitating a popular American country group. Although the Filipino band was quite good, I wasn’t a fan of country music. I preferred rock and R&B dance music. 

As we stood in the entrance, a hostess rushed up to Lorino and hugged him. 

“This is Jade,” Lorino said. “She’s got a friend for you.” 

Jade took us to a table, and we sat down and ordered San Miquel beer. Jade waved over another hostess, and she introduced me to Tala, a pretty young girl with an oval face, black marble eyes, long dark hair, and a slim figure. Tala sat next to me. 

The Americano’s manager, Maxwell Walker, a heavy-set and nearly bald man in his fifties, came over with the waiter who delivered our drinks. The retired U.S. sailor was known as the “Chief.” 

“How’s my favorite guy?” the Chief asked Lorino. 

Lorino replied that he was great, and he introduced me to the Chief as his South Philly home boy. 

Lorino had told me all about the Chief, the Old Huk, and the other Olongapo criminals he had been dealing with when we were at sea. He was proud of his Olongapo connections, although I cautioned him.     

“Go say hello to the “Old Huk.” You know he loves you,” the Chief said, pointing to a table in the corner where an old, wizened man and a skinny younger man wearing large sunglasses sat. 

Yeah,” Lorino said with his lopsided grin. “He loves the money I bring in.”  

Lorino took my arm and took me over to the table.   

“Hello, my friends. This is Paulie, my goombah from South Philly,” Lorino said to Amada Camama, the Olongapo crime boss known as the Old Huk, and his assistant Jackie Sicat. 

“Paulie’s a writer.” 

Lorino called me a writer based on the three feature articles I wrote for the ship’s newspaper back when we were both in Special Services. I doubt that Lorino actually read the pieces, but he told me he was impressed. Back in South Philly, the only writers he knew were number writers. 

Most guys in the Navy addressed each other by their last name, and a couple of sailors abbreviated Davis and called me “Dav.” But because Lorino and I were both from the same South Philadelphia Italian American neighborhood, Lorino called me by the diminutive of Paul, my first name, like they do in South Philadelphia.  

“Paulie’s also a boxer. I seen him fight, so don’t fuck with him.”  

Amama just nodded, but Sicat lowered his sunglasses and gave me a curious look. 

When we walked away, Lorino told me he built me up to impress his partners in crime. 

“Great.” I said. “Now if something happens, they’ll shoot me first.” 

Lorino laughed.         

After a few drinks, Tala pulled me to the dance floor during a slow number and I danced with her, holding her close to me. Amama and Sicat passed by us as they headed out the door. 

Even with the band playing loudly, we all heard gunshots from outside the door. Lorino was up and running towards the door and I followed in his wake. 

Amama was crouched in the doorway, and Sicat was firing a pistol at two other Filipinos who were firing back from behind a jeepney. Lorino stood in front of Amama to protect him, and I stood off to the side. 

The gunfight on Magsaysay Drive only lasted a minute. Sicat shot one of the gunmen, and he collapsed in the street. The other gunman took off running down the street. 

Amama patted Lorino on the back and then he and Sicat stepped into a jeepney and drove off. Lorino and I went back into the bar. 

The Olongapo police and the American Shore Patrol showed up and began asking questions. The Chief, his bar employees and the bar’s patrons all told the police and the Shore Patrol that they didn’t see or hear anything. 

The dead gunman in the street was carted away by the police. Inside the Americano, the band began playing again and the sailors went back to dancing with the bar girls. 

As we sat back at our table, Lorino in a low hush told me about the street war going on between the Old Huk and another drug gang.         

 “You better break away from these shady characters and the shabu business,” I told Lorino. “You’re out of your league here. This isn’t South Philly. You’re going to end up dead or in jail.” 

Lorino just gave me his lopsided grin and shrugged. 

 

Later that evening, Lorino, Jade, Tala and I took a jeepney to Jade’s house in the Barrio. The house, no better than a shack, was clean and comfortable if rustic. 

Jade gave us a beer and Tala took my hand and led me to a bedroom. 

The next morning Lorino and I headed back to the ship. There were no jeepneys around, so we walked through the Barrio village towards Magsaysay Drive. We came to a rickety small wooden bridge a few feet above a muddy creek. 

At the other end of the bridge was five teenage shoeshine boys. The shoeshine boys were notorious thieves and violent criminals. Lorino swaggered towards them and waved hello. 

One of the shoeshine boys came forward and said, “Hey, Joe! You want a shine?” 

“No,” I replied firmly. 

The shoeshine boy threw a ball of mud onto my left shoe. 

“How about now?” he asked with a grin. The other shoeshine boys laughed. 

My reaction was immediate. 

I punched him in the face, and he dropped to the wooden floor of the bridge. 

We then heard a series of clicks as the other shoeshine boys whipped out Batangas "Butterfly" knives. I pulled out my own pocketknife and we squared off. 

Lorino pulled out a wad of Pesos and tossed them into the muddy creek. 

The shoeshine boys all jumped into the creek to retrieve the Pesos. 

“Look at what that fucking kid did to my shoe,” I said in anger. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Lorino said to me and pulled me away from the bridge. 

We caught a jeepney and we drove back to the naval base’s gate. 

“Gotta love Olongapo,” Lorino said.

Hit The Head

 Hit the Head

 By Paul Davis

 “I gotta hit the head,” is U.S. Navy speak for a sailor needing to use a urinal or toilet. 

Bathrooms on Navy ships and shore stations are called the "head.” As I heard it, the name derives from the old sailing ships, where the toilet was located in the bow, or the head of the ship. The Navy is big on traditions and nicknames.   

On the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk during our 1970-1971 combat cruise, the Communication Radio Division’s head was equipped with four urinals, a half dozen sinks, a half dozen toilet stalls and a half dozen shower stalls. 

Cleaning the head was the responsibility of the compartment cleaner, a position I held for a month when I was first assigned to the division. 

I told the other sailors at the time that I was the “head man." That always got a laugh. 

While on “Yankee Station” in the Gulf of Tonkin off North Vietnam, the radio division was on what was called “port and starboard” watches, with eight hours on watch and eight hours off. When half of the division was on watch and the other half were in their racks sleeping, the head was usually empty. 

One evening during our second line period on Yankee Station, I couldn’t sleep, so I was in the head brushing my teeth. Ronald Redman, a big and heavy sailor, wide as a refrigerator, waddled into the head. 

The Oklahoma sailor was crude and ill mannered. He had a mouthful of chewing tobacco in his jaw, and he spit a glob into the sink next to me. He then began to walk away. 

“Yo! Clean the sink out, you fucking slob,” I said to him. 

“Fuck you, Davis,” Redman said. 

At that moment James Griffin, a chubby and congenial 2^nd class radioman, walked into the head. He saw me hit Redman square in the face with a swift and hard left jab. The jab caused Redman to step back, but he just stood there and didn’t say anything. 

“That’s enough, Davis,” Griffen said, stepping in between us. 

“I don’t want to fight you, Davis,” Redman said. “Because you is smaller than me.” 

“Oh, yeah,” I replied. I hit Redman in the face with a good short right. 

Redman fell against a sink and his left eye swelled and closed. 

Griffen grabbed my arms and warned me that he would put me on report if I hit Redman again. 

“I ain’t gonna fight you, Davis, cause I don’t fight guys smaller than me,” Redman said as he held his left eye and waddled out of the head.   

To my surprise, it appeared that Redman had one redeeming quality.

 

Most of the sailors entered the head wearing flip flop shower shoes, a white towel with snaps held around our waists, and another white towel around our necks. 

Jason Bullard was different. 

The tall and fat 3^rd class radioman came into the head wearing a white fleece bathrobe. After showering, he emerged from the shower stall with a towel wrapped around his head like a girl and the full robe on his body. 

Despite Bullard’s effeminate ways, he was not ridiculed or picked on. He was a popular guy in the division. We presumed he was a homosexual, but he didn’t proposition anyone as far as we knew. Bullard was intelligent, cheerful and funny. He often made self-deprecating comments about his swishy ways. We all laughed when he swayed into the head like a movie queen, and he would laugh back, usually making some clever quip.    

Bullard’s best friend on the Kitty Hawk was Jeffrey Greenberg, a 3^rd class radioman who shared Bullard’s love of books. I became friendly with Greenberg when he saw me reading Mark Twain’s short stories. He struck up a conversation with me about Ole Sam Clemens, a writer we both loved.  

I later became friendly with Bullard. “I’m surprised that a high school dropout and street urchin is so well read,” he said.  

I laughed. I told him that I wanted to be a writer, and he encouraged me to get my GED high school equivalency via a correspondence course and then take college correspondence courses. I took his advice. 

 

It was on another line period off North Vietnam when a serious assault was committed in our head. 

I didn’t like Louis Durand. The tall, lean 27-year-old 3^rd class radioman with curly reddish hair was from New Orleans. He was proud of his college degree from some university, and he often spoke of it and how he was better educated than our officers. 

He bragged that he had connections in the city, and he was in line to be a big shot when he received his draft notice. Not wanting to die in a Vietnamese rice paddy, he joined the Navy. But he often complained that the Navy was holding him back from his destiny.  

Durand was also quite vocal in his detainment of those with only high school diplomas, and he was even more disdainful of high school dropouts. And he was especially disdainful of 18-year-old high school dropouts, like me, who appeared to be somewhat literate and intelligent. 

In the middle of a group discussion on our down time, Durand would quiz me about some fine point of the subject. I passed his quizzes, which made him scowl and others laugh. But he was positively gleeful when I happened to mispronounce a word.

Bullard, also a college graduate, came to my defense, stating, “Davis is an autodidact. That’s why he sometimes mispronounces words. But I suspect that he is better read than you, dear Louis.”

That pissed off Durand. And he had no snappy comeback.

I didn’t know what an autodidact was. I had to look it up. Bullard was right. I was never a good student, having cut most classes in high school, but I was an avid reader. So I may have known what a word meant, but in some cases. I did not know how to properly pronounce the word due to my not ever having heard the word spoken in a classroom.

After Durand mocked me for mispronouncing the word, I made a joke about it. But in my head, I made a note to punch out Durand if I ever encountered him in Olongapo. Luckily for Durand, he frequented a different bar in Olongapo than I did, so I never saw him ashore.  

 

I later learned that Durand also displayed his haughtily ways in Olongapo. He mocked an airman from one of the airwings attached to the Kitty Hawk. The airman, John Makris, the son of a Greek restaurant owner in New York City, was offended but said nothing to Durand.  

“The Greeks have gone from being great philosophers to being short order cooks,” Durant said disdainfully. The bar girls laughed at Durand’s put down of Makris, even though they didn’t know what he was talking about. But hey, they thought, he’s buying the drinks.

Makris held his tongue and temper and allowed Durand to make disparaging remarks, but he drew the line when Durant coveted Lolita, Makris’ pretty bargirl.

After pulling into Subic Bay after a long line period, Markis went before a captain’s mass and was restricted to the ship as punishment for shoving another airman during an argument at sea. Not being allowed to visit Olongapo during our week-long port of call was a very cruel punishment for a young man.

To make matters even worse, Makris was told by another airman that Durand had paid the bar’s Mama-San, so he was able to take Lolita to a hotel for what was called “Short-time” sex. Durand later that evening left with Lolita when the bar closed.

Makris was furious. He had fallen for Lolita, and he thought she was in love with him. He took a combination lock and stuffed it into a white sock. The “lock in a sock” was a common weapon aboard ship and Makris planned to get revenge on Durand.

Makris lay in the passageway outside of the Message Processing Cener. He waited more than an hour and then saw Durand step out into the passageway and enter the radiomen’s compartment. Makris followed Durand into the head. Durand stood before a urinal when Makris came up behind him and hit Durand in the back of his head with the lock in a sock.

Durand screamed in pain and fell to the deck. Makris stood over Durand and struck him twice more. Three radiomen, alerted by Durant’s screams, entered the head and grabbed Makris.

Durand was taken to the ship’s sick bay and then flown off the carrier and admitted into the Subic Bay hospital. Makris was also flown off the carrier and landed in Subic Bay. He was met on the airfield by NIS special agents who arrested Makris for felonious assault and attempted murder.

I felt bad for both Durand and Makris, although I didn’t like Durand and I didn’t know Makris.

Bullard told us that he read a message that stated that Durand had been operated on and was in stable condition. The message also said that Durand was scheduled to be medically discharged from the Navy.

“Durand said he couldn’t wait to get out of the Navy,” Bullard said. “He said that with his fine education; he had a bright future in New Orleans. It is a shame that he had to be beaned on the head, in the head, to get a jump on his brilliant career.”

“Well,” I said. “That’s one way to get ahead in life.”

Admiral McCain

 One of the good things about working in the Communications Radio Division aboard an aircraft carrier during the Vietnam War was that radiomen were the first to know about everything. 

For example, when fleet headquarters ordered the carrier to leave “Yankee Station” off the coast of North Vietnam and sail towards Subic Bay on such and such a date, the word spread quickly among the radio division. The radiomen in turn told their friends in other divisions aboard the ship the good news about heading to Subic Bay and the great wide-open liberty town of Olongapo. 

The Kitty Hawk’s captain often complained that the entire ship’s crew and air wing knew about the order to proceed to Subic Bay before he did. 

While on watch in the Message Processing Center one evening in 1971 during our final Yankee Station line period, I saw a copy of a classified CIA report that was sent to the Task Force 77 admiral and the Kitty Hawk captain. 

The report announced the capture of a North Vietnamese spy in Manila. The spy, named Thanh Ban, was the subject of a nation-wide manhunt in the Philippines. He had been posing in Olongapo as a Filipino Chinese merchant named Shi Chen as he spied on the massive Subic Bay U.S. naval base. But after an assassination plot had been uncovered, Ban fled to Manila and was hidden by the New People’s Army (NPA), the communist guerrillas at war with the Philippine government. 

An elite Filipino police unit, accompanied and assisted by an unnamed CIA officer, raided a NPA hideout in Manila. Four Filipino NPA Communist guerrillas were killed in the shootout with the elite unit. One NPA officer and Ban were captured.

The report noted that although Ban was a dedicated Communist, he did not relish being executed by the Filipinos or spending many years in an awful Filipino prison, so he confessed to the commander of the elite unit and the CIA officer. 

Ban told of the plan to execute Admiral John S. McCain aboard the USS Kitty Hawk while the aircraft carrier was off the coast of North Vietnam.  

On our very first line period on Yankee Station in December of 1970, Admiral John S. McCain, the Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Command, known as CINCPAC, flew aboard. As CINPAC, Admiral McCain was the commander of all American forces in the Vietnam War.  

I was working in the Message Processing Center when I heard a commotion.

Admiral McCain, escorted by the Task Force admiral, the ship’s captain and other ranking officers, entered the center for a brief tour. I stood at attention like the other sailors in the center and heard McCain yell “At ease.” 

The admiral, a short, thin and wizened officer, with a cigar as big as a pony’s leg, walked by me and other sailors on watch. He stopped, looked me in the eye, and said in a gruff voice, “Get a haircut, sailor!” 

“Yes, Sir,” I replied. 

The admiral and his entourage all laughed. 

As they were passing by, I heard the admiral ask what movie was showing on our closed-circuit television on that evening. An aide responded that MASH was scheduled to air three times for the ship’s three different watches on their down time.   

I saw the admiral grimace and say that we should be watching the movie Patton with the great actor George C. Scott, and not some anti-war crap. 

I liked both films, but the good admiral did not ask me for my opinion. 

After Patton showed in the early evening, McCain appeared on our closed-circuit TV. Noted for his profane language, the admiral opened with, "Good goddamn evening.” He went on to give a rousing and profane speech about our mission to contain the Vietnamese Communists in Vietnam. He praised our Navy commanders on the carrier as well as the young crew. 

He ended his speech by stating, “The hippies back home say ‘make love not war.” I say if you’re man enough, you can do both.” 

There were both cheers and groans from the more than 5,000 sailors and airmen about the ship. 

“Cut him some slack,” I told a friend who had groaned loudly next to me. 

“Do you know his son, a Navy carrier pilot, is a POW in North Vietnam? How would you like to be the top officer in the war while the enemy is holding your son? And you don’t know if he is being tortured because of you?” 

Admiral McCain’s son was U.S. Navy Lieutenant Commander John S. McCain III. The future U.S. Senator and presidential candidate was then a prisoner of war being held in North Vietnam having been shot down in 1967. The admiral said little about his POW son, and I can only imagine how he suffered in silence.

 

Later, reading messages to and from the Subic Bay naval station and our message center, I learned about the plot to assassinate Admiral McCain aboard the Kitty Hawk. 

Lieutenant Colonel Cesar Rosa of the Olongapo City Police was a short and thin officer, but he was wiry and hard, and he had a stern face and cruel dark eyes that frightened the people that he investigated and subsequently arrested. He also had a reputation for being relentless and ruthless. 

Luz dela Cruz was an unattractive older woman with a skeletal body, a taunt face and protruding buck teeth. Still, she had her customers in The Ritz, an Olongapo bar that catered to American sailors. Most of her customers who bought her drinks were “Cherry Boy” young virgins and older American sailors that were not too fussy about looks. 

She also had customers she sold shabu crystal meth to at the bar. Luz dela Cruz was her own best customer. When a young sailor went wild on shabu and took on two American Marines in The Ritz, the Olongapo police arrested the sailor. 

Prior to handing over the young sailor to the American Shore patrol, he was questioned by Rosa. 

"Where did you get the shabu?"

The sailor, who was still jumpy from the drug, replied, "I bought the meth from Luz."

He said that he had never taken the drug before and he had never felt so strong and invincible.  

"So why did those two Marines I picked a fight with beat the living shit out of me?" 

After turning over the sailor to the Shore Patrol, Rosa and Mario Dizon, his huge sergeant, drove to The Ritz and arrested dela Cruz. Back at the police station, the scared and desperate bar girl quickly gave up her shabu supplier. As a bonus, she confessed to collecting information about U.S. 7th Fleet ships from the drunk and high sailors and passed on the information on to an NPA agent. 

Rosa and Dizon headed out to arrest the NPA spy. Fernado Diaz, a muscular and seasoned warrior, fought the two Filipino police officers when they tried to arrest him. Diaz swung punches widely and tried to pull a knife from his pants pocket, but Dizon pinned the spy's arms and Rosa punched Diaz repeatedly in the face. Dizon took Diaz to the ground and placed handcuffs on him. 

Diaz was taken to the police station. Rosa called Boone Cantrell, a Naval Investigative Service special agent who worked at the Subic Bay naval base. 

Diaz, bruised by his fight with the Filipino police officers, was quiet as he sat in a chair and faced Cantrell, who was tall and Lincolnesque, and the much shorter Rosa. 

Worried about what Rosa and the American agent might do to him, he confessed to being an NPA spy. He asked for a deal. He would not only confess to passing on intelligence tidbits to his NPA superior in Manila, he would also confess to working with a North Vietnamese spy. Rosa and Cantrell looked at each other in amazement. Rosa agreed to a deal. 

To their amazement, Diaz told them that the NPA had a spy aboard the USS Kitty Hawk. The spy, Roberto Santos, was a Filipino serving in the U.S. Navy as a disbursing clerk aboard the aircraft carrier. Santos was ordered to meet with Diaz whenever the ship visited Olongapo. Santos, the son of an NPA guerrilla, had been ordered to join the American Navy. Although as a disbursing clerk, he did not have access to classified information, he was useful to a point. 

During the Kitty Hawks first port of call to Subic Bay for the 1970-1971 combat cruise, Diaz and the North Vietnamese spy, called Shi Chen, spoke about Santos. Chen said that Santos should be assigned to assassinate Admiral McCain when he visited the aircraft carrier later that month. 

Diaz objected and told his Vietnamese Communist brother-in-arms that Santos was not trained for assassinations, but the North Vietnamese spy said that it did not matter. Even if the assassination failed, it would be a psychological victory for the Communists. 

Since Diaz’s orders were to assist Chen in any matter, he met Santos at an Olongapo hotel and handed him a .25 semi-automatic pistol. Santos cried and pleaded with Diaz. He had never killed anyone, he said. He was also concerned with his own safety. What will happen to him after he shot the famous admiral?  

Diaz was adamant. Santos will follow his orders. 

After listening to Diaz’s confession, Cantrell rushed back to his Subic Bay NIS office and sent an urgent message to the USS Kitty Hawk. 

Aboard the Kitty Hawk, the message was received and distributed quickly. The admiral appeared unconcerned when told of the assassination plot. Two Marines armed with .45’s were added to the admiral’s group, and the Marine Division’s captain and two enlisted Marines armed with M-16 rifles rushed to Santos’ berthing compartment. 

Santos raised his hands in surrender and told the Marines that the pistol was in his locker. He seemed almost relieved to be arrested and therefore he would not have to shoot the admiral.

Admiral McCain later flew off the carrier. His son, John McCain, a 31-year-old Navy lieutenant commander, was held as a POW for five and a half years. He was finally released on March 14, 1973.

And looking back, I didn’t get a haircut after being ordered to do so by Admiral McCain. 

I’m proud, somewhat perversely, of the fact that I disobeyed a direct order from a four-star admiral.