by Thomas Hay
Step aside, Captain Kirk, it’s my turn to travel and explore new worlds and civilizations, I thought.
On my third and last Far East cruise, I thought I might get that chance. I was on deck one night, doing my routine star gazing, when I saw something that looked familiar. I can’t really explain why it seemed so familiar.
Almost immediately, I felt a slight tingling sensation cloak my body, as the hair on my arms came to life and began to dance about. It was the same sensation I had experienced that night on the country road outside Clinton, just before the freak accident.
In the night sky, I quickly noticed the same type of blinking lights, in the same formation, appear about ten miles away, on the horizon. A beam of light suddenly shot from the lights in the sky and moved downward toward the ocean surface. Then the beam disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. In a flash, the three lights rose in the sky and vanished into the universe.
The hair on my arms returned to normal and the tingling sensation stopped. I can’t explain how, but somehow I suspected what might have happened.
“Radioman Hay, report to the radio room on the double,” I heard over the ship’s intercom.
I had the Con (duty) that night and had just taken a break. I could feel the anticipation in the radio room as soon as I stepped through the door.
“We just received an S.O.S.,” shouted the excited radioman who had been monitoring the emergency band.
A ship was in danger. It turned out to be a Russian trawler. American fleets were always shadowed by these suspicious fishing boats. They were constantly snooping and spying on U.S. fleets. We knew who they were and what they were doing, and they knew we knew. It was a cat and mouse game, since we couldn’t do anything about it in international waters.
International law required us to respond to an S.O.S., so we took advantage of the opportunity to board their vessel. No U.S. personnel had had that opportunity in the past, so our boarding party was very excited to be able to board a Russian spy boat. Everyone’s adrenaline was flowing faster than a class five whitewater rapid.
It definitely wasn’t a fishing vessel, as we had suspected all along, even though everything about it looked fishy. We couldn’t find one fish onboard, let alone a fishing pole. There was however, a lot of fishy electronic equipment, enough that we wondered how the boat could stay afloat.
The Russian crew was completely disoriented. They appeared to be in shock and were scared shitless. Only one of them spoke. He babbled in broken English, about some strange-looking flying machine, with small hairless creatures hitting them with a beaming light and a crewman gone missing. Nothing he said was making any sense to anyone in our boarding party, except maybe me. I don’t know why, but I suspected I might know what they had experienced. Something in the back of my mind told me that I had been there and done that. However, I felt it best to keep my mouth shut.
We could smell Vodka on their breath, so it was assumed that they had to be drunk. What happened to the ship and its crew was later classified top secret, so if I were to tell you the rest of this story, I’d have to kill you. That might not be good for future book sales. I can say it was another one of those government cover-ups that you don’t read or hear about in the news.
This incident enforced my thoughts that human beings weren’t the only living creatures in the universe after all. But my thoughts didn’t last long as we were thrown into a war.
Shortly thereafter, the Hancock became involved in the Vietnam War. For forty-five days at a time we would be on station off the coast of Vietnam, bombing 24/7. We would put to port in Subic Bay for three days of R&R (rest and relaxation) and then return for another forty-five days of bombing. I’ll never understand how such a small country took so much bombing and still won the war.
Another case in point, one of our slow prop aircraft fighters, used for low-level bombing, landed with an arrow stuck in its wing. This had us shaking our heads in disbelief. Just who was this enemy, anyway? Shooting a crossbow at an airplane? Unbelievable!
WHOOP WHOOP, man your battle stations. This is not a drill.
The North Vietnamese finally decided to test our air defenses. We picked up a fleet of PT boats and a few MIG aircraft on our radar, heading right towards us. Lucky for them they veered off, just before we were prepared to blast them to hell. A U.S. naval fleet had enough firepower to destroy anything that threatened it, except maybe an alien spacecraft.
So why did we lose that war? I’m just a sailor. Ask the politicians. They’re the same ones running the country now.
Back in the States, hippies were making love, smoking pot, and protesting the war. They would burn their draft cards and the American flag, while we were fighting and dying to protect the liberties they were protesting. They called us war-mongers and baby killers. We called them a bunch of draft dodging momma pussy boy cowards, who didn’t have the guts to defend the liberties they were protesting.
The Vietnam vet was the only veteran who was spat upon and cursed for serving his country. We dared not wear our uniforms while on leave. Shame on you citizens for treating us that way. It was a bitter pill to swallow and left a bad taste in the mouth of all Vietnam veterans, as you can tell by the tone of my voice.
Hey, hippies, it was the politician, not the soldier, who screwed that war up. Now days, the horrific public anger toward returning Vietnam Vets has largely been put in its rightful place as a national shame.
Those who served their country knew it was the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin was draped by the flag, that allowed the protester to burn the flag.
WHY DO FOOLS FALL IN LOVE?
Why does my heart skip this crazy beat? Why do fools fall in love? —Joni Mitchell
“Hey, G.I. Joe, you want girlfriend? My name is Dolly,” said the most drop dead gorgeous doll I had ever laid eyes on! Her big sinful smile and electric bedroom eyes lit up both me and the bar room! She was a bombshell and a brick house, wrapped in one enticing package!
“Well...Hello, Dolly. My name is Tom,” I said, as I looked her in the eye and smiled back.
I was on my third and last Far East cruise when I met Dolly. The ship was in the Philippines and I was on liberty, searching for a good time, just running my game. Love was the furthest emotion from my mind. By then I had no problem relating to women. I had had many opportunities to practice the Japanese geisha’s teachings. But Dolly really rang my bell. Of course, it also might have had something to do with the see-through blouse and painted-on jeans. All heads turned ‘cause she was a dream. She said I was a tiger she wanted to tame. No more love on the run.
How could I not surrender to her charms and discover ‘love at first sight’, from the condition of the condition I was in?
The long stretches at sea might have been taking a toll on my sensibility. Forty-five days at sea, attacking North Vietnam day and night, would wear a Marvel superhero down. Especially with only three days’ liberty (always in Subic Bay, Philippines) and right back out for another forty-five days. This went on nonstop for six months.
Every time the ship would come to port, Dolly would be on the dock, waiting to comfort my weary body and soul. I often wondered how she knew when the ship was coming to port. All naval operations were supposed to be top secret.
On the ship’s last visit before returning to the States, she told me she was pregnant with my child. Of course, being the fine gentleman that I am, I wanted to do the proper thing and marry her.
The ship’s captain had to approve all marriages to foreigners, so I requested a hearing with him. During our conversation, the captain pointed out some facts that my blind love may have kept me from seeing. He informed me that it was common for foreign girls to want to marry a U.S. sailor. It was their free ticket to the States.
“Oh, no sir!” I said.
“Not my Dolly. She is different.”
The captain rolled his eyes and strongly suggested I take her to a doctor, to confirm the pregna
ncy.
Well I’ll be darned, she wasn’t pregnant after all. During the examination, the doctor also discovered something she had failed to mention. She had the clap (gonorrhea).
Now how in the world can the clap be mistook for being pregnant?
I set sail to America a bit wiser about the facts of life and with my manhood dripping, leaving Dolly to search for another lonely sailor to take her to the great land of opportunity. Who could blame her for trying? Certainly not a naive and weary sailor.
SOUTH OF THE BORDER
The mission bells told me that I mustn’t stay, south of the border, down Mexico way. —Willie Nelson
Remember my buddy Frank? He and I had signed up on the buddy program and spent boot camp together. After boot camp he went to store’s clerk school. After that he was stationed at this tiny navy base in Southern California. The base was on top of a mountain, out in the middle of nowhere, just a few miles from the Mexican border. Frank never stepped foot on a ship during his entire four year enlistment.
We had kept in touch, so after my second cruise, I went to visit him while on leave. We decided to take some R and R in Tijuana. We almost didn’t come back.
Frank had purchased a switchblade knife while shopping for souvenirs. He was waving it back and forth in front of my face, showing me how it worked. A Mexican cop observed his actions and must had thought Frank was threatening me.
The cop started shouting at us, as he drew his gun, and came running toward us. He was shouting in Spanish, so we had no idea what he was so excited about.
The navy had warned all sailors who traveled to Mexico about their jail conditions. It was a place to avoid. With this in mind, Frank and I took off running for the border, which was only a few blocks away.
The cop saw us fleeing and started shooting. We heard the gunshots and put the pedal to the medal. About a block from the border I felt a sharp sting to my left pinkie. When I looked to see what had caused it, I noticed it was hanging by only the skin from the second joint. I had been shot.
Luckily, we made it across the border without further damage. I was able to get the finger repaired at a local hospital. They could only fuse the second joint, so that I could make a fist. The pinkie will never be straight again.
SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO
So come on and let me know. This indecision’s bugging me. . . . Should I stay or should I go? —Clash
My, my, how time flies. I must have had fun. My four year navy tour of duty had expired. They tried enticing me to reenlist by offering a $3,500 bonus, a lot of money in 1965. On top of the money, I was offered shore duty in Japan, every sailor's dream tour.
How could I refuse?
It’s been said that the navy is more than a job, it is an adventure. Well, it was time to give up the adventure and get a job.
Leaving the navy was a bit scary, because they had provided three squares a day, medical, dental, and a roof over my head for the last four years. It was a wee bit frightening thought to be on my own. I had traveled half the world and had made some great friends. I enjoyed being a Radioman and sailing the blue seas. I had served my country with honor and was proud to be an American.
I can’t really explain why, but I turned the navy down. I had this nagging feeling there was something more exciting awaiting somewhere over the rainbow. I was ready to seek my fame and fortune, but I had no idea how I was going to achieve it. Keep in mind, I was still unaware of the abductors plan.
I got my honorable discharge and became a civilian. Three and a half years onboard a ship made for one salty dog. I was so salty they had to pour me down the gang plank when I left the ship. After I departed , I turned toward the ship and my shipmates and saluted them one last time. A little bitty tear almost let me down.
After the navy, I didn’t use my Morse code skills again until more than ten years later. Nonetheless, I never forgot them. Once learned, it was like riding a bicycle; something you never forget. The Code was stuck in my subconscious forever. It would be several years before I finally discovered how and why I had developed this unique skill, and how I achieved some of my other enhanced abilities.
The Comeback Kid’s intriguing and mysterious adventures had just begun.
All the while the abductors watched, abiding their schedule.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Conundrum
ACHY BREAKY HEART
Don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart, I just don’t think he’ll understand. —Billy Ray Cyrus
About three months before my enlistment expired, I met Sylvia. To be honest, she was actually the deciding factor in my decision to leave the navy.
She was from Switzerland, working as a nanny for a wealthy San Francisco family. She was basically a plain Jane, as far as looks, but she had a nice figure, an attractive smile, a bubbly personality, and a charming European accent. She had me the first time she smiled and said “hello, is it me you are looking for?”
It didn’t take long before she had me wrapped around her little finger.
She was six years older than I, a very independent woman, and much more mature than anyone I had met. She became my first real girlfriend and, of course, I fell for her like a child.
I had always thought I would return to Missouri after my enlistment. I found myself seeking a job in the Bay area in order to be with her. She was a dream that had come true, someone with whom I could envision spending the rest of my life with. Unfortunately for me, however, she saw our relationship totally different.
Six months into our relationship, she informed me that her visa had expired and she had to return to Switzerland. Now, here's the kicker. She wouldn’t be coming back. It was sayounara and I won’t be seeing you anymore. I was devastated, to say the least.
She had been gone only a few weeks before I realized that I couldn’t live without her. It had to be true love. Surely she was missing me too. I quit my job, sold everything but my clothes, packed my bags, and took off after my heart's desire. It was a one-way ticket through the love tunnel.
Stupid is as stupid does.
Hey, give me a break. I was in love.
When I arrived in Zurich, Switzerland, I called and told her I had come to fulfill our (my) dream. She was surprised and shocked that I had traveled there to proclaim such a thing. However, she agreed to meet with me, once I arrived in her hometown of Lucerne. This was in September and it was starting to get cold, but the weather wasn't nearly as cold as she would be toward me when I finally arrived.
In the nicest and most polite way possible, she basically told me that my dream was her nightmare and I should head on back home.
Now how could that be?
She told me it would be in my best interest to forget her and hightail it back to the States. She confessed to be in love with a married man and to be his mistress. She had taken the nanny job in the States to reevaluate her feelings toward him, but discovered she couldn’t shake the love she felt for him. He was the real reason she had returned to Switzerland.
Now she tells me?
Man, rejection by my heart’s desire and one true love was a hard pill to swallow.
My heart ached so much that I got sick to my stomach and puked all over her floor. That made the situation even more painful and embarrassing. I had a hard time keeping anything down for the next few days. Sometimes love don’t feel like it should. My only option was to swallow my pride, tuck my tail between my legs, and start the long, lonely, and sad journey home.
You can tell the world you never was my girl. You can burn my clothes when I’m gone or you can tell your friends just what a fool I’ve been and laugh and joke about me on the phone. But don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart. I just don’t think he’ll understand...
I travelled to Luxemburg by train, then caught a plane to Greenland, and flew on to New York City. I had just enough money left in my pocket for a bus ticket to the heartland.
The Comeback Kid would be needing a remedy for his achy breaky heart.
Little did I know that the abductors had a cure in store for me.
KANSAS CITY
I'm going to Kansas City, Kansas City here I come. They got a crazy way of loving there and I'm gonna get me some. —Wilbert Harrison
When I arrived in Kansas City, brokenhearted and with no coins to speak of, it was my birth mom who would come to my aid. She and I had been exchanging letters during my navy stint. It turned out to be a great opportunity to get to know her and my half brother Mike, from whom Dad had so adamantly shielded me in my youth. I found out that she was not such a bad witch after all. But my brother was another story.
I stayed with birth mom and her husband until she arranged a job for me with TWA. Through a friend, she had also arranged a job for Mike a few months earlier.
After talking with Mom and doing the math, I discovered that Mike had been born one month before my oldest sister Sandy. Dear ole Dad had one in the hangar at the same time as evil ole Mom. What was good for the goose, wasn’t good for the gander.
When Dad discovered that I was seeing my birth mother, he refused to speak to me, a stipulation that lasted until his first grandchild was born, two years later.
It didn’t take long for me to call my birth mother Mom, even though I wasn't really comfortable saying it. I soon got to know her side of my family, a part of my family that I had never known existed before.
Mike and I were soon able to share an apartment together. He was thrilled to death to have a brother too, as he had been raised an only child.
At our age, the only thing on our minds was the pursuit of the opposite sex. We were at the age where a man's private part replaced and took over his brain. Mike and I were no different, so we spent a lot of time beating the bushes and chasing tail. But he did most of the scoring, as I was still hurting from Sylvia's rejection.
