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On the Road Again

Bright ’n’ early the following morning, did I arise and, after a hearty breakfast, slip off to the train station in Yokuska where I purchased a round trip ticket to Tokyo. I was so much taller than the local inhabitants, that I felt as strange as Gulliver must’ve felt, walking amongst the Lilliputians. Besides, I had to laugh at the din of completely incomprehensible cackling that rose to greet my ears. Even though I spoke not a word of Japanese, I had little trouble purchasing a ticket for Tokyo.

Onboard the train, I was amazed at the speed with which the train zoomed through the countryside, stopping just long enough to allow passengers to get on and off. And I wondered why we didn’t have in place such a modern and efficient means of transportation in St. Louis. I certainly would’ve had it easier, traveling from South County, where I lived, to see Mary at her parents place in North County.

What little I saw of the countryside from the window of the train was simply gorgeous. However, the lush beauty of the precipitous foothills that surrounded the quaint little villages, nestled snugly into every nook ’n’ cranny along the line, quickly gave way to a flattened terrain, monotonously dressed in the urban sprawl of a more modern Tokyo.

When it came time for me to disembark from the train, I felt as if I were stepping into some fantasy without the slightest clue of what was going to happen next. For I’d found no unfolding tale here to guide me, till I stumbled upon the most unusual park I’d ever seen, one completely surrounded by a massive stone wall, like the fief of some medieval warlord. Upon entering the grounds, through one of its large open gates, I wound up roaming about this dreamlike world for hours, taking pictures of its perfectly manicured gardens, groves of cherry trees in full bloom, and quaint old Japanese structures. I was never more impressed by anything I saw in Tokyo than by this singular glimpse into Japan’s past, for Tokyo was like any other large city in the States, choked with its monuments to commercialism like an overcrowded cemetery.

Having worked up an appetite, I flagged down a cabdriver who seemed to understand as well as speak a little English. When I asked him to take me to a good but reasonably priced restaurant, we sped off down through a maze of very narrow ’n’ windy side streets as if he were trying to catch up with the other entrants in the Grand Prix after having been forced to make an unexpected pit stop. So did I about have a heart attack whenever we zoomed past an oncoming vehicle traveling at the same high rate of speed. Not realizing what I’d gotten myself into, I thought my fate was surely sealed as I imagined a head-on collision with every car we passed. Still in a near state of shock by the time this roller coaster ride came to an end, I was miraculously left standing in one piece on the sidewalk in front of a place that looked like any other small ethnic, neighborhood restaurant back in the States.

Having regained my wits about myself, I entered the restaurant and sat down. Shortly thereafter, an elderly Japanese woman handed me a menu which, much to my surprise, was written in English. Looking forward to a good sampling of Japanese cuisine, I soon discovered that I was about to enjoy a good old-fashioned American meal. After feasting on a sumptuous steak dinner, I graciously thanked my very modest hostess for such an excellent meal, whereupon I quickly found myself back out on the streets again.

A Carefully Guarded Secret

Before my Captain’s Mast, I pulled two days of shore leave in Japan. While the conversation for many of the crew gravitated down around sampling some of the finest p—y to be found anywhere on the Asian Continent, I looked forward to stepping out into the first foreign country I’d ever visited. I was disappointed, though, when I found out that both Marty ’n’ Greg had pulled duty for the weekend. Only later, did I learn why Harold had declined to go ashore with me, for he had evidently sent most of his meager pay back home to his wife for child support. And so did I go ashore alone.

Having just gotten paid, I decided to spend the first day rummaging through the Navy Exchange in Yokuska where I’d heard I could find some good bargains. While I struggled to work up the courage to venture out into the countryside by myself, I went looking for gifts to give to my mother and Mary. With so much to choose from, I opted to buy my mother a beautiful set of china and a set of silverware, to boot. For Mary, I bought a Japanese doll adorned in the traditional dress of a woman living in the Japan of yesteryear. After seeing to it that these gifts were wrapped and shipped off, I realized how much I needed to do something for myself too. Thus did I finally make up my mind to go sightseeing in Tokyo on the morrow.

That evening, word reached us warning of a possible demonstration in front of the main gate to the shipyards at Yokuska. Ever since the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, have a growing number of Japanese adamantly opposed port of entry to any foreign vessel suspected of carrying nuclear weapons. Because the whereabouts of our nuclear arsenal was such a carefully guarded secret known to only a select few, they had no way of ascertaining whether we were actually carrying nuclear warheads on the tips of our torpedoes or not. For some reason, though, the demonstrators drew upon my sympathies, so much so, that had I been more aware of my own position on nuclear weapons, I might’ve joined them.

Walking on Water

Having been relieved of my duties, I was sent below, never to stand another watch while I remained in First Division. Even I had to laugh as variations of the story, about how I’d hit the old man in the head with orange peelings, filtered back down to me through the crew. Lest I get a swelled head over the matter, I was put on report for having been derelict in the performance of my duties. Why just the thought alone, of a Captain’s Mast, had a very sobering effect on me as I wondered how the Captain could objectively preside over a hearing around an incident in which he had also been involved. How could he deliver a fair and impartial verdict? Just because he’d seen the torpedo before I had, did that mean I’d been derelict in the performance of my duties? Or had he written me up because I’d accidentally hit him in the head with orange peelings? Again, did that mean I hadn’t been paying attention to what I was supposed to be doing? What if my attention had been focused in a different quadrant, as it was, from that in which the torpedo first appeared? Would that have meant I had been negligent in any way? Or was it because he’d been personally offended by my failure to conform to his expectations of me, that he wrote me up? Obviously, a bruised ego was hardly sufficient evidence to prove my guilt, unless he, whom I had so offended, happened to also be the Captain, my appointed judge ’n’ jury in this instance.

Was I guilty of having been derelict in the performance of my duties? Indeed I was, for I’d left my soul to drown in a sea of unconscious behavior. Having performed a minor miracle, staying on top of all this instinctive behavior, I had yet to rescue her from the clutches of the Great Gray Mother of Instinct. In other words, I had yet to find my way in real life. Because the way I should go remained so unclear to me at the time, I couldn’t hold onto it for very long without its vanishing from my grasp. I had a choice, either I played with my self, that is, I played along with the Navy’s program for me or I played, once again, with my old imaginary or real—depending on how one viewed the matter—childhood playmate, my soul. Whereas I’d made the right choice when I rescued her from the sea in the metaphysical realm, at the same time, I had offended the Great Gray Whore on the physical plane. Indeed, I was beginning to see just how difficult it is to serve two masters.

By means of a simple torpedo had my soul brought home to me not only the threat of death ’n’ destruction, but also the promise of new life. In her own way, had she forced me to rise above my feelings of powerlessness, to stand tall against the raw power of Nature. In other words, she had tricked me into momentarily embracing a whole new approach to life, one in which I could indeed walk on water or at least overcome the severe limitations of a purely instinctive existence.

She Who Must Be Obeyed

As Fate would have Her way, I was not destined to enjoy any pleasure cruise, for She was bound and determined to stir up the waters of life, enough to keep me at odds with the Navy. Unable to circumvent my fate for very long, I began to see why She had earned the name She Who Must Be Obeyed. Obviously, I was being shown how to conduct my self in this situation, even though I had little reason for acting as such. I knew only that I should resist the Navy with my whole mind, whole heart and whole body, for the Navy had not the capacity to captivate either my mind or my heart, both of which remained free to roam at will. And so did I, as the two learned to work together to free my body from the stranglehold the Navy had on it, get into trouble, the next day.

Upon learning, right before lunch, I was scheduled to stand the afternoon watch, I hurried up to the mess decks, only to find a long line. So I grabbed an orange, to tide me over till dinner, and raced up to the bridge where I was told to relieve the starboard lookout. Once up topside, I was informed by the last watch to keep a sharp lookout for any torpedoes—dummies, that is, of course—headed our way, for we were involved in an antisubmarine warfare exercise with the other ships in the fleet. Having donned the microphone and headset, I quickly scanned the surface of the water with my binoculars. However, I saw nothing that even remotely resembled a torpedo. Instead, I felt as if it were going to be just another one of those long boring watches, I had grown so used to standing by now.

How quickly I found myself sitting out in the middle of the ocean in a rowboat, or daydream, without any means to propel it. Suddenly, from out across the water, I heard a young girl scream for help, as she struggled to keep her head above water. Without thinking, I leapt out of the boat and ran across the surface of the water to save her. Having pulled her from the water, I carried her in my arms, back to the boat. As I stepped into the boat, it dawned on me that I’d just walked on water. Astounded, I put her down in the boat.

“Are you all right?“ I inquired.

“Yes,“ she replied. “I’ll be fine as soon as I catch my breath.“

“What’re you doin’ way out here, by yourself?“ I asked.

“I’ve been waiting for you to save me,“ she replied.

“I don’t understand,“ I declared. “Who are you, anyway?“

“I’m the little girl you left to drown some years ago,“ she answered. “Don’t you remember? You told your high school counselor about me.“

“Why that was just a story I made up,“ I responded, “to help me explain what I was feelin’ at the time.“

“No,“ she screamed. “It really happened—you left me to drown, choosing instead, to go off ’n’ play with your self.“

Momentarily struck speechless by the truth of her words, I wondered how what’d started out as make-believe could end up being so real.

“May I have a bite of your orange?“ she asked after a long pause.

“What orange?“ I muttered, for I still couldn’t believe all of this was really happening.

“The orange you have in your pocket,“ she replied.

“Of course!“ I exclaimed as I grabbed the orange and started to peel it. “How’d ya know I had an orange?“

“I’ve been waiting for you to peel it,“ she replied with a smile.

As I did so, I tossed the peelings over the side, completely unaware that, in reality, I was bombarding the Captain and the Officer of the Deck with them.

Suddenly, I heard the Captain scream, “Why hasn’t the starboard watch reported the torpedo approaching the Davidson off the starboard bow? I want that man relieved of his watch, immediately, goddamn it!“

I looked at the little girl in the boat, as she smiled at me with the most sympathetic look on her face. “You set me up for this, didn’t you?“ I demanded to know before she vanished.

As the rowboat sank beneath the surface of the water, I realized she had just torpedoed me again. If these were the sort of tricks the little sprite was going to play on me, no wonder I had been so reluctant to rescue her in the past.

The Real Reason

Shortly thereafter, we were granted shore leave into some small port along the coast of South Korea, accessible only by launch. Since I had to stand watch that evening, I was unable to go ashore. But that didn’t stop those whose noses had sniffed out some free p___y. Hootin’ ’n’ hollerin’, like a pack of wolves hot on the trail of a stray pack of females, they all but stumbled over each other as they grabbed their genitals and scurried over the side into the launches, which sped them off to the lairs of their precious little whores.

That same evening before the next watch, I ran into Ruelly up topside. As we approached each other, I sensed that something was not quite right with him, for he looked terribly jaundiced. “What the hell’s the matter with you?“ I asked, halting ere I got too close to him.

Smiling, he replied, “I’ve got hepatitis.“

“No kiddin’!“ I exclaimed. “How the hell d’ya get that?“

“I don’t know,“ he answered.

“Are ya contagious?“ I inquired further.

“Only if I spit, piss, or shit on ya,“ he responded with a chuckle.

“Maybe I’ll keep my distance,“ I said. “I wondered what’d happened to ya, when I hadn’t seen ya around for awhile.“

“Yeah,“ he began, “I’ve been stuck in sick bay ever since they found out what I got. I’m bein’ quarantined till they transfer me off the ship.“

“When’s that?“ I asked.

“As soon as we pull into Yokuska,“ he answered.

“Ya lucky stiff!“ I exclaimed. “I mean you’re lucky to be gettin’ off the ship, not that ya got hepatitis.“

Again he smiled. “I know what ya mean,“ he said.

“Hey,“ I hastily added, “I’m sure gonna miss ya.“

“Yeah,“ he concluded, “I’ll miss you too, Dury. But I sure as hell ain’t gonna miss this f___in’ can or any of the motherf___in’ lifers on it.“

“Listen, Dury,“ he continued, “I gotta get back down below fore the corpsman finds out I’m up here. Havin’ been cooped up down there for a week now, I needed a little fresh air, if ya know what I mean.“

“Yeah, sure,“ I replied. “You take care of yourself now.“

“And I hope ya get over this thing soon,“ I added.

“Are they gonna put ya in the hospital in Yokuska?“ I asked.

“Nah,“ he replied. “They’re gonna ship me back to the States.“

“Ya lucky dog!“ I exclaimed.

“Yeah, ain’t I real lucky now,“ he muttered as he turned to walk below, with that wry little smile of his on his face.

I was shocked. Poor Ruelly! I felt sorry for him. At the same time, I almost wished I were in his shoes, except for the hepatitis. I wouldn’t have wanted that for anything, even if it did mean getting off the ship. At one point, I almost wished he had spit on me, as he had so often in the past whenever he got up in my face to speak to me. I had stood off from him for that very reason. But the more I thought about it, I had to find the real reason why I wanted off this ship so badly.

A Dangerous Game of Chicken

In my satisfaction with having found a few like-minded companions, I stepped back from the edge of the abyss, to seek out the one who could show me the way to safely reach the bottom without acting like an animal or going insane. Thus did my search for She Who Must Be Obeyed begin as our flotilla steamed out of Pearl Harbor on the 18th of April, 1967, to rendezvous with the Japanese and South Korean Navies for joint maneuvers or war games, as they were more commonly called.

Having arrived at our destination, somewhere off the coast of South Korea, about a week or so later, we encountered more than just our allies, as we almost literally ran into a Russian Naval vessel. For with the coming about of our ship to avoid a collision with the Russian vessel, was I slammed up against the bulkhead in the passageway where I had been assigned to work. Out of the sudden flurry of crewmen that descended upon the passageway from both directions, did I hear someone ask, “What the hell’s goin’ on?“

“We damn near hit a Russian ship,“ came the reply.

In a panic, I dropped what I was doing and raced up topside to see what was going on. Off the stern of the ship, I saw two Russian Naval vessels coming about to head us off. And sure enough, within moments, it seemed as if we were going to collide into one of them again. Only this time we reached the crash point first, forcing the Russian vessel to come about to avoid hitting us.

At one point, I went down below to retrieve my camera, to get some pictures of the Russian ships whenever we maneuvered close enough to get a good shot. As I continued to watch the game, the two of us were playing, I saw the Russians as the kid on the block who had not been invited over to play. Miffed at having been excluded from our games, he then goaded us into playing a dangerous game of chicken. Intimidated at first by his actions, we quickly decided that what this turkey needed was a dose of its own medicine. After getting in a few good licks, we finally drove the Russian kid back to the horizon, where he hung around for awhile to watch us play our precious little war games.

The Missing Link

Then, one day, upon the breath of a sigh from Fate, Herself, were a number of new guys wafted onboard–reservists, like myself, who were still very much alive with the warmth and the feeling of their own humanity–a welcome sight for sore eyes.

The first person I met was Greg. From Los Angeles, he was the gregarious magnet that drew us all together. In build, he reminded me of a lanky turtle without its shell, for from out of his rounded shoulders protruded a long skinny neck on top of which sat a head he always held cocked slightly forward and off to one side. He stood his ground, though, against the taunts he incurred around his slow, deliberate movements and somewhat effeminate mannerisms. Gifted with an ability to draw, he rose above the herd mentality of his tormentors by drawing satirical caricatures of them. In his hate for the Navy, he regularly smoked marijuana and, on occasion, dropped acid with another shipmate to escape the pain of it all.

Shortly thereafter, Greg introduced me to Harold, a rabbity-looking fella from Collinsville, Illinois. Of slight build, Harold was a very warm and gentle person, who approached others with his nose twitching as nibbled on one of his fingers or puffed on a cigarette, like a novice smoker. With his big watery brown eyes fixed elsewhere, on some distant worry, he often had little to say. When he did, he never spoke an unkind word about anyone, even the lifers. For unlike Greg ’n’ I, his dislike of the Navy had been tempered by the more satisfying position, he held, as a clerk typist in the ship’s office. Besides, he had a wife and a newborn baby back home to think about. For he had apparently gotten her pregnant before they were married—before he was ready to assume that much responsibility in his life.

The next person, I met, was Marty, a wild and high-spirited stallion, who would soon prove much more difficult to keep corralled than either a boxed turtle or a caged rabbit. For he would go on to become one of the most outspoken members of the crew beside myself. While he could never accept such a position for himself, he deeply respected the stand I had taken against the Navy and stood by me to the very end.

From a tough working class neighborhood in Baltimore, Maryland, Marty never cowered from speaking his mind and challenging the other members of the crew. For he hated the Navy and the animallike behavior of the lifers. A hard worker, he always followed orders, in spite of the abuse he suffered at the hands of some of the lifers for expressing his views. And even though Marty stood up for what he believed, he always acted within the confines of the law he felt bound to obey. As an electrician’s mate did he short-circuit many a lie the lifers lived by. An answer to a prayer, Marty was more than a like-minded companion, for he was another voice in the desert.

And even though I didn’t know it at the time, I was the missing link, that hypothetical intermediate between the myth of man and his animal ancestry. Indeed, I was the next great step in the evolution of mankind, which so many of us long to see and yet bitterly detest when we do.

A Formidable Barrier

Around this time, I bought some civilian clothes so that I could go down to Waikiki Beach, in the evenings, and blend in with the rest of the tourists. For the sake of my humanity, I needed to get away from that menagerie of animals back onboard the ship, as much as possible, to avoid reverting back to the bush, myself. Having bought a pair of swimming trunks and a large beach towel with a woman in a bathing suit printed on the front, I wound up spending most of my time down on the beach pining away for better days while I basked in the sun, swam or body-surfed the small tidal waves that constantly licked the shore. Exhausted, I would oftentimes fall fast asleep on my beach towel till dusk, when I would awaken to a nearly deserted beach. After slipping into my shirt and the tennis shoes I’d bought, I would comb my hair before beginning my long lonely jaunts down the beach. Somewhere along the way, I would stop to buy a little food and drink, or whatever I could afford, to tide me over until morning when I could fill up for free back onboard the ship. Occasionally, I might even meet a casual acquaintance but most often roamed about alone, wishing Mary could be at my side with her hand in mine. For I used to think that would be heaven.

Alas, heaven seemed to be some vast dream that I could only skirt, at best, like the ocean. With the exception of an occasional glimpse through the hole made by a dream or a fantasy, heaven kept itself ever so well concealed behind an invisible barrier of images, specifically designed for just such a task. Only on rare occasions, would it deem me worthy enough to be transported up through this barrier, via some phantasmagoric beam of images, to catch a glimpse of this world from its perspective. Even rarer were the occasions upon which it might reveal to me the meaning of such phantasms.

As heaven contained me, so did I contain heaven. Only I did not yet know how to keep myself from getting carried away with some of the myths that came and went through heaven’s door, at their own behest. For I could stand up to only those myths I knew well enough to let pass without getting emotionally caught up as a passenger on the train of images that would fly past me. Otherwise, would I get sucked into taking part in the dream or fantasy either in real life or within my imagination. In the latter instance, I had the distinct advantage of seeing the myth before I acted, which gave me some leeway, depending upon my knowledge of the myth, to decide whether I wanted to hop onboard this train of images or not. I was free to choose only when I saw through the myth, a formidable barrier which protects the truth from an unworthy intruder by disguising it in images that appear meaningless to the untrained eye. After all, was not I made in the image of a God Whose likeness still remained hidden from me.

The Wisdom Warehoused within Fantasies

SENIOR MEMBER: In this psychiatric evaluation of you, the clinical psychologist clearly indicated, at one point, that you had presented no evidence of ever having had any delusions or loosened associations. During the course of your interview then, did you not discuss with him any of the very vivid visual and auditory fantasies you had presented here earlier, in your testimony before this board?

RESPONDENT: No Sir, I did not. It never occurred to me that he would be interested in my fantasies. Only recently, as I’ve begun to unearth the enormous wealth of wisdom warehoused within these fantasies, have I, myself, taken a greater interest in them. And judging from the contents of his evaluation, I’d say the Navy had actually been more interested in seeing that I was capable of remaining on active duty than it had been in looking into any ability I possessed, at the time, for discerning the direction of my life.

Besides, I feared being misdiagnosed as a schizophrenic, like my real father. For I wasn’t crazy, I just didn’t fit into this way of life, which is exactly what these fantasies were trying to tell me. In fact, I had even been forewarned by my soul that, until I understood them more clearly, I should not throw these pearls of wisdom out to be trampled upon by swine, that is, by literal interpretations which simply were not true. What I needed, but did not get, was help in unearthing the truth rather than in suppressing it with misinformation.

An Underlying Instability

MR. HART: I believe this particular psychological evaluation appears as page thirteen of the clinical record.

RESPONDENT: Yes, dated 14 April 1967, it reads as follows:

This 20-year-old, single SA/USN with two years active service was referred by the Naval Shipyard Dispensary for evaluation of a possible schizoid personality. The subject presents a problem with his sexuality that he regards as excessive. Also, he reports a rather vague problem with adjusting to the shipboard environment.

Mental status examination reveals a well developed, clean cut, blond-haired young man who relates in a self-effacing manner. He does not appear to be anxious, but does convey the impression of being overly ashamed of himself. Flow of speech is smooth and thought content is focused on his concern about his compulsion for sex. His guilt regarding the behavior persists despite professional reassurance regarding the normality of the behavior. He describes distant relationships with his peers, indicating he has never formed long lasting or deep-seated interpersonal relationships. He denies any conflict with authority figures. He has experienced some recent impairment of sleep and appetite. His thinking is clear, coherent and goal directed. He is capable of spontaneity and appropriate emotional expressiveness. There is no evidence of loosened associations, delusions or hallucinations. Intelligence is in the high average to superior range; and judgment is considered essentially intact.

A brief review of background history reveals distant relationships with peers and lack of persistence in reaching goals. The patient’s natural father suffers from schizophrenia and has been hospitalized since the patient was three years old. The patient’s stepfather is described as an alcoholic who never established a meaningful relationship with the patient. The patient’s mother worked frequently and he has no warm feelings about her. He reports several episodes of stealing minor objects as a child. He progressed through high school making excellent grades, graduating at the age of 18. He briefly attended the Naval Academy, making excellent grades, but dropped out suddenly for vague, unspecified reasons. He attended another college and dropped out for similar reasons. He held several jobs briefly but terminated his employment following impulsive trips out of town. On one such occasion he was apprehended at a girl’s dormitory. He has dated only occasionally, usually upon the initiative of the girl, and is presently uncomfortable in the presence of women.

Impression: No psychiatric diagnosis is indicated at the present time. There is evidence of a basically schizoid personality makeup with some depressive features.

Comments & recommendations: The subject is considered capable of remaining on active duty. There is evidence, however, of an underlying instability, which may require periodic reevaluation and supportive therapy in the future.

Signed L. Bonney LTJG MSC USNR
Clinical Psychologist