Looking Back: My Time as a Midshipman

I will soon return to police work in this column, but while I still remember them there are some events which shaped me prior to the ‘force.’ I was a Naval Midshipman at UNM (University of New Mexico). This meant that when it was most unpopular, I was wearing a Midshipman’s uniform to classes with shorn hair at precisely the time that long locks were all the rage. Vietnam was in full swing as were the protests. Back then in 1971, chicks did not necessarily ‘dig’ the uniform to the extent that one’s options concerning this arena could be said to be narrowed down considerably.

As a ‘Middie’ we arose at approximately 0430 hrs. then PT’d and ran from 0500 to somewhere around 0600 to 0630 hrs. and then it was back to classes. Weekends could entail extra duties such as cleaning the sports arena for funds for the unit or drill. It wasn’t bad and coming from a long tradition of Naval Officer’s down the line, I viewed it as a very natural progression.

On my first summer in 1972 as a Midshipman I got to go on ‘cruise.’ If I remember correctly this was referred to as PACNARMID (Pacific Naval Reserve Midshipman) This, was designed to render the aspiring Naval Officer with a vague notion of just what is expected of a Naval Officer. This meant that you worked all aspects on the ship while at sea. It was fascinating to say the least. This entailed CIC (Combat Information Center), the three and five inch guns, missile battery, sonar, boiler room, engine room, steering and just about anything else they decided to throw at you. It is rather fascinating how it all comes together. It is one thing to observe an American warship at sea or depicted on the ‘big screen’ and quite another to be onboard and working. Usually our days were well into an 18 – 20 hour day with no days off – where would you go anyway? If you were deep in the ship at the reduction gears, engine room or boilers you did not see daylight for days on end.

Now a ‘Middie’ is lower than the lowest. Any Navy Chief worth his salt will inform you of this in very short order (Approximately within 15 seconds of arrival up the gangplank to be precise). A ‘Middie’ is lower than whale you-know-what. That is the long and short of it…end of story.

I was stationed on both the USS FOX DLG/CG-33, and the USS Reeves DLG/CG-24. These are Leahy class cruisers. We sailed the Pacific conducting maneuvers and anti-submarine warfare exercises. At one point we were to put into port in Honolulu Hawaii. I suppose that due to past experiences with irrational semi-college educated, teenage kids on their first liberty, the Navy had learned a thing or two. They came around about 48 hours prior to arriving at the islands and handed us (as I remember there were about 6 ‘Middies’ on board) a 3 x 5 card with all pertinent info regarding who we knew and where we were going on the island. There was a space I believe, for one’s hobbies (gee that would be surfing and girls) and where you expected to stay on-shore if at all. I dutifully filled out my card and it was picked up by the Chief. I was working back and forth between the engine and the boiler rooms at the time.

The ‘boiler room’ is a most appropriate term for what this section of the ship entails. It is the room where the Naval fuel oil is burned in order to generate all the steam and power, which in turn, drives the ship and all its on-board systems. It is ungodly hot and humid and noisy. It is cramped and all exposed surfaces can burn you if one is not careful. Your skin and hair is soaked in oil, your uniform is soaked in a viscous, black, greasy oil which comingles with your sweat and permeates your pores and is somewhat similar to a modern day Beverly Hills spa treatment I might suppose. You can taste the fuel oil in your food and it simply doesn’t leave you… ever. Even your bedding is stained an oily black/brown after just one shift. The engines rooms were just as noisy, hot, humid and confusing with hundreds of gauges requiring constant monitoring. I pretty much resembled Al Jolsen when the Chief came barreling down to the boilers about four hours later and screamed out my name.

“REEEEITZ!!!!”
“Sir, yes sir…” I snapped to attention.
“Up to the Officer’s Wardroom on the double REEEEITZ!!!”

I hauled ass up to the Wardroom with the Chief hot on my tail all the way. I pounded hard three times on the grey metal door (hatch) while standing ramrod straight at attention and announced myself.

“Midshipman Reitz reporting sir!”
“Enter Mr. Reitz,” he said.

I opened the door to an incredibly cool Wardroom with fans gently humming throwing cool, fresh air onto my face. The Captain sat at the far end of a long green clothed table adorned with ashtrays and the ever present coffee mugs. Stewards in their white jackets stood by the buffet table under numerous plaques and awards fastened to the bulkheads. All of the Officers of the ship sat along the sides and all eyes were silently fastened on me. Had I screwed up royally? Had I inadvertently sunk the ship or initiated WW III?

“Sit down Mr. Reitz,” he said. When a Naval Captain tells you to do something you simply do it greasy clothes and all.
“Mr. Reitz… I noticed an address here of relatives you have on the island. Do you know who this address belongs to?”
“Sir, my Uncle sir.”
“And do you know what your Uncle does?”
“Sir, he is in the Navy sir.”
“Might he be of the Officer rank Mr. Reitz?”
“Sir…yes sir.”
“Mr. Reitz…(long pause) would your Uncle… by any chance… happen… to be… Admiral Bernard A. Clarey otherwise referred to as CINCPACFLT?”
“Sir, yes sir he is.”

Now CINCPACFLT is the Commander in Chief of the Pacific Fleet. A fleet Admiral. Four stars. It is rather huge. Uncle “Chick” as I knew him, had been awarded (3) Navy Crosses, (5) Distinguished Service Medals, the Silver Star, the Legion of Merit and the Bronze Star during his service. He was a genuinely wonderful man aside from being one of the Navy’s most decorated officers.

“Mr. Reitz… you will be dining with myself and the other Officers tonight.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“I also understand that you surf and we so happen to have a helicopter pilot Lieutenant (I forgot the name) who would be willing to fly you to wherever you would like to go surfing while on leave on the island.”
“Sir, yes sir. Thank you sir.”

I never took him up on the offer of the helicopter as I always wanted to achieve things based on my merit and no one else’s. However, and this is a big however…
When we pulled up to the quays the Admiral’s limousine came driving alongside with the American flag on one front bumper and the Fleet Admirals Stars flying on the other. Up the gangplank came my Aunt Jean and my Mother along with photographers. And yup…sure enough the next day there is my picture in the Navy Times with Aunt Jean, my mother and me in my Navy whites on the fantail! I never worked the boiler room again.