I stood watch on the signal bridge, biding my time writing a letter to my high school sweetheart thousands of miles away. It was nearing the holidays, but we'd be spending them on the sea and on alert, as the navy always was. Down below, the sound of Christmas music could be heard, probably by a recruit away from home for the first time.
On the eve of Christmas, we encountered a Nor'easter with huge swells and hurricane-force winds that tested the ship's seaworthiness as well as the sailors, some of whom couldn't be too far away from a bucket and strapped to their bunks, and the old salts who shrugged it off and made do with whatever the sea threw at them.
Christmas morning brought more of the same, and the constant listing of the ship proved to be too much for the ship's cook as he closed the galley until it was safe. This meant raiding your stash of cookies and crackers for those who were well enough to eat, while others rode it out and filled more buckets.
On the third day, the seas calmed and life on the ship returned to normal as all recruits swabbed the decks and cleaned buckets, some losing their cookies again until they had nothing left inside. This warship took a beating from the storm as sea salt slammed against the hull, washing away the ship's numbers and releasing a forward gun mount, weighing several tons, into the sea to prevent capsizing.
We pulled into our home port on New Year's Eve, the pier filled with loved ones, some holding up homemade signs as others yelled out names of the sailors standing at the rails in dress blues. It seemed like a lifetime as the ship was tied up and the gangplank lowered, allowing the crew to disembark to waiting hugs and kisses.
Most of the ship's crew were granted a seventy-two-hour liberty, while those who remained onboard played cards and enjoyed a meal of turkey and all the trimmings, waiting for the liberty to end and for theres to begin. One week later, it was all hands on deck to repaint the exterior of the ship, mount another heavy gun mount, and replace two lifeboats lost at sea.
Once again, the ship received orders, and once again, the rails were manned as family and friends waved goodbye, tears flowed, and promises to write often were made. Out of sight from land, the crew began the daily duties that would continue until the next port, wherever that may be. Old salts would share stories with the wide open eyes of recruits, saying someday they'd be the old salts, but until then, get me a coffee, recruit, and make it strong.
Life on a navy ship was always my dream, growing up in Arizona with no ocean nearby. I'd read brochures from recruiters over and over again, finally convincing my parents that's what I'd do after graduation, at seventeen years of age. From boot camp to my discharge, I lived the life of a sailor on an American warship, every moment an adventure I will never forget. As well as my brothers of the sea, who would give their lives for you, no questions asked.
They called us squids, they called us out, and we never missed a chance to fight behind a bar in an alley, usually between Marines versus Navy. It was all in the spirit of fun with some anger mixed in, but in the end, we'd belly up to the bar, wiping blood from broken noses and toasting to America, the country we loved.
I'm an old salt now standing on the beach looking out as a navy warship heads out to sea. Memories fill my heart as I recall the midnight call to watch and being a recruit subjected to the dirtiest jobs and all the humiliations the old-timers could dish out. It's just a speck on the ocean now as I salute from the beach to all my brothers, old and new, who serve and protect the best country in the world.
Never forget any veteran who would give up their life for you on this designated day of respect and remembrance.
Mike 2025
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