The Invisible Sign

There Is A Church For Sailors

Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said all men will be bothers
Until the sea shall free them
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken
Almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom
Like a stone
(Leonard Cohen – Suzanne – 1967)

Why the lyric to that song came to mind as I began this chapter, to me, is very obvious. Perhaps it was that, at the time of my enlistment, my knowledge of Jesus Christ was no more than a baby in a barn.

Naval boot camp offered church services, but only for those who wanted to attend; it was not part of the curriculum.

In fact, having no God and no conscience would make it easier to do the job you signed up for. Dealing out death, even by proxy, makes you just as culpable as the trigger man.

Since I was not interested, I attended one service during indoctrination and found that, although supposedly non-denominational, the entire service reeked of Catholicism, so I never returned.

Unlike the many there to escape the draft and a sentence to Vietnam, I was there to do nothing more than become a man. I needed manhood and a way to move forward in life.

“Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori,” was nowhere in my conscious or subconscious mind, so, at that time, there was also no interest in adding ritual and pretentious religious behavior to the goal.

Not yet, anyway.

An Introduction to Humanity

After graduation from boot camp, we were given a brief “shore leave,” after which I was shipped off for a year of training at the NATTC (Naval Air Technical Training Center) in Millington, Tennessee.

Was I mistaken, or had every sailor there watched far too many WWII movies before enlisting? Even as immature and uncultured as I was, they seemed to behave more like dogs in heat, let out of the kennel.

Their top priorities were: getting laid, getting drunk, or “scoring some pot.”

“Far out, man!” It’s the 1960-70s. Peace, love, dope, and Hari Krishna, all you groovy freaks!

Otherwise, your option was to lie around the barracks, which I did a lot of.

Lonely, Homely and In Need Of A Friend

Being raised with less than a modicum of social skills, I had no concept of “the real world.” Too young for alcohol, and zero skills when it came to females, I spent most of my time at the barracks or at the base movie theater.

As long as I was in class or studying, I was fine. Otherwise, I longed for home and my old, selfish way of life; up-all-night habit of roaming the empty streets of town, and having no desire to hang with the frat boys.

So I assume that it was that lonely, empty feeling that turned my thinking toward God. “Who am I, where am I, why am I, etc.!

Perhaps the adage is true, after all: “There are no atheists in a foxhole.”

So, the Search Begins!

One Saturday afternoon, I thumbed through the phone book looking for churches. What more Christian church could there be than The Church of Christ, and ironically, there were several in the Memphis/Millington area.

To determine which was closest, I began calling each one. In the process, I discovered a rivalry among them!

When I asked the person who answered the first call which church was closest to the base, he was determined to discourage me from attending any one of the others.

Then, in subsequent calls, I experienced much the same.

One had a piano, and music was evil. Another did not express “the word of God” correctly, and another failed to follow sound Bible reasoning.

Weird, right?

So I discovered and chose the one closest to the base.

It Is Said, The Bible Is A Mirror

As I began reading and learning more of the contents of the Bible, I began to feel even less human.

Besides being homesick, I felt sick about who I was as a person — a constant gnawing that I could not define. Guilt. Displeasure with my thinking, and my seeming inability to change what I am.

It seemed like every Sunday, I was down in front of the congregation.

Known as “The Invitation,” it is more or less a ritual that takes place at the end of services: as the congregation sings a hymn, individuals are invited to walk to the front of the auditorium to publicly ask for the congregation’s prayers.

Too often was I there by myself, aware of a need, but what the need was — I had no idea. This same issue would carry on from there to, well, eternity, it seemed.

The Sun Began to Shine!

Amid the mayhem of learning calculus, defining parameters or transistors, troubleshooting radio receivers and transmitters, and a score of other thrilling topics at the NATTC — I also continued writing letters to her, declaring my undying love.

Then, one sunny afternoon, not long before training would end, and not long after I’d given up hope that she would ever see me again…a letter arrived…

She said, “Yes! I’ll marry you!”

Yo, Ho, Ho, and an Airantisubmarine Squadron.

Training lasted more than a year, from November 1969 through the end of 1970

Home on leave for the holidays, and before reporting to my first duty assignment, she and I once again consummated our relationship, and we married on February 8, 1971.

After a hasty search for base housing in Rhode Island, I moved her and the baby, who was by then nearly four years old, to the Naval Air Station at Quonset Point.

Not too many weeks after we settled in our new home, like all military servicemen, I left them both behind as I sailed away on my first cruise.

When I returned home that November, I met our second child for the first time, who was born on October 1, 1971, during my deployment.

Once again, having never seen her during pregnancy, with absolutely NO EXPERIENCE as a father, and only 19 years old, I was face-to-face with being the father of two boys.

Why do I need God’s help!? Duh!

Changes in Latitude…

Time passed, and things changed. Not only did my squadron move to another ship, the U.S.S. Independence CV-62, but it also moved to a new base near Jacksonville, Florida, aka Cecil Field.

Of course, we had to follow and take up residency in Jacksonville in early to mid-1972 at the Villa Del Rio apartments, very near the St. John’s River.

Changes in Attitude…

When you serve aboard a Navy aircraft carrier:

On a ship the size of the Independence, people die. Not many, maybe two or three with each deployment.

But thanks to the sharp eye of our avionics chief, Chief Petty Officer Coshow, I barely missed my chance to be one of them.

Yes, you know your job is dangerous, but still, you don’t expect today to be the day. You merely understand that it could be, then without warning…

… fifty miles off the coast of Russia aboard an aircraft carrier (I found myself) — floating four feet above the deck and being pushed, feet-first, into the deep black of the Barents Sea at 3:00 a.m., on a very cold November night.
(Cold Black Death in the Barents Sea – James Eichenlaub 2005)

As a sailor at sea, you can read books, gamble, or think.

Thinking was my #1 pastime.

There is a constant, extreme stress of being on the flight deck of a carrier during operations.

During particular moments like the one described above, the lights go out for you! When you find yourself groping for a reason not to die, you don’t panic; first, you try to understand what’s happening and how to escape. The panic has to wait.

Death Comes In Many Forms

It wasn’t until many weeks later that the panic took hold like the rumblings of a coming storm. Each rumble was more intense than the last.

It felt like my body was breaking down. I couldn’t think, and I wanted to hide. I WANTED TO GO HOME. I just knew there was something physically wrong, that I was soon to die, but they refused to help me.

“There’s nothing wrong with you! You just need to learn to relax,” they said.

As my condition worsened, I discussed it with Lt. Barnes, my department head, and I told him I was considering seeking a discharge as a conscientious objector.

The deployment was ending, and we were headed to our home port, and it was shortly after our return to Cecil Field that I was hospitalized for what could only be described as a mental breakdown.