I was conceived in the old country. After World War II Germany was left in bad shape. Needless to say, my mother Maria was German by birth. My father, Earl was an American from Arkansas. Dad being a corporal with the occupation forces. Their romance was fruitful and the couple made plans. The marriage was performed in a chapel in Frankfort, mother's hometown. This was the start of the cold war with Russia. Father was a communications expert and he typed secret code. Dad could type one hundred and forty words a minute on a mechanical typewriter. He spoke German fluently. Dad's tour was over with the US Air Force. Then we all returned on a ship to New York, that summer of 1948. I had got my sea legs early and since I wasn't born yet, that was good.
East Coast to West Coast by train, I still hate trains, no leg room. The arrival in Stockton, California was met by the Alley family to mixed feelings. "War Brides" had got a bad reputation in these years after the war. Dad's family of three brothers, five sisters and Grandma were no exception. That said, my parent's struggled like young couples do with career and life. Dad was offered a job with his oldest sister's husband, a contractor working on a dam project. One of the dams on the "Feather River Canyon," in Northern California. Life was tough the winter of 1949, living in a "line cabin." Mom was about to deliver a son. The snow was deep in the meadow, around the work camp. Dad had been shooting squirrel for dinner on that day. The trees surrounding the clearing were dark that late afternoon. Disturbed by the cracking of dead wood along the path. Maria not far up the hill behind the cabin was startled. Hearing this noise and thinking that this wasn't her husband, she froze. The truth was a mountain lion sent my mother scrambling down the path toward home. The screams and hollering got my dad's attention. Earl ran down the hill after her, to help. This excitement put them both on the road to town. The drive got them to the Orville hospital in time. This being my grand entrance to the clan, it took place very early on a Wednesday morning. I arrived hungry and pissed Jan. 26, 1949. This was bitter sweet, no pampers and ward was cold as hell, but the good news was, my parents looked happy to see me.. "A big wildcat got me here", and that seemed only right. The next few years were foggy because my sisters showed up. They got more attention of course but I would punish them on regular basis. The family had moved to the San Joaquin Valley. Dad had found employment. Life in Stockton improved our family situation. Mom did some work in the carnival for a while...they would put her in a box and sawed her in half and at four years old, this would freak me out a little. Dad drove a taxi. Dad's second job was selling stuff animals door to door. Squirrel's holding a rose was a "top seller." Like I said, life was foggy then. Mom was always doing some strange things, being European. The problem for me was the following, a certain Christmas present, a special outfit for me. I was so excited thinking it was a brand new Cub Scout uniform. That wasn't it, and to my horror opening the present in front of the whole family . This (forest green) German Leather shorts with all the trimmings was just for me. The Bavarian hat and knee socks. Dad just smiled, he wasn't going to be wearing it. I was "show and tell" at school for days. Classroom to classroom, they would march me around. Church on Sunday was real special, at least I got to take off the Robin hood hat with feather sticking out of it. I would drag my butt on the sidewalk on the way home just to ware a hole in the shorts, but I just managed to shined the leather up. My dad and mom got into the insurance business and the family prospered. Childhood was challenging. Roy Rogers and a Mask Bandit were my heroes. My sisters always had to play the Indians. We had some strange pets. I wanted a dog so, we got a monkey. Suzy the spider monkey was even more cunning than my sisters. This old circus performer could steal your cookies with her tail using her hands or teeth to distract you. Life was a little scary at our house. Mom would dress Suzy in a pink Toot Toot and walk into Safeway. That was funny except I looked like the organ grinder next to her in my outfit. I'm changing the names of my sisters to protect myself. They were angry little women with pigtails. I love them still. They were younger and made my life interesting. I continued to change from wanting to be cowboy to being a pirate. That would move me into my next phase. Sin Bad the Sailor much better than Popeye the weirdo. I like spinach but still have no tattoos. Growing up Catholic kept my "pirate" subdued and my guilt front and center. The nuns at school had my “curiosity” under control for awhile. My best friend in those days, a German/Italian kid had the same taste for the female gender. Our problem, they keep you in the dark about that subject way to long. Archie and Jug Head comics were as close as fifth graders had a license to go. The girls in these stories looked "Hot" but the guys always lost interest in the end. I with this German/Arkansas background, a real skinny kid, who wasn't a smooth talker. I relied on "Bean" another name change to keep me safe, really had the gift of speech.
He and I did everything together. Our biggest problem then, he was much better at sports and everything else. His Italian shenanigans and my off-center tempo, kept life more challenging. The two of us were all about enterprise, we had figured out how to make a buck. Starting a shoeshine business sounded good. We got a red wagon and pulled it around the block offering to shines for fifty cents a pair. Door to door just like my old man. Bean and I filled the wagon after three blocks. "Wow," now the problem was, we didn't want to shine all those shoes. We were bored after the first pair. The wagon was full. Things didn't go to well. We had no names or addresses to match up the shoes. This lack of ambition meant no follow through, a stumbling block for sure. Shoes got lost and more Catholic guilt showed up. Mom had said my first word was "shoe". This was very sad. Someday, I've got to get those old shoes back to their owners. I told you, I was a pirate. School was tough on a “day dreamer.” It never was my strong suit.. Summer school really sucked. After classes, the two of us went down to the river. The Bean and I planned our first Sea voyage that summer of 1961. Took us three days to build the wooden raft and launch it. The damn thing broke apart before she hit the water and not for a lack of nails. That summer's dream turned out bad. Our friend, Willie invited us over. His dad's hobby was gun powder and small canon shot, “Pirate Stuff”. Willie's dad was a chemist and would make his own black powder. They having their own whale harpoon canon, it was real cool. They would fire cans of wet sand at the rock on the other side of the water.They lived in a big house on the riverbank. Willie had invited us to come over and watch a new movie, with the “Three Stooges.” His parents were gone of course. Bean and I showed up that afternoon, our friend was building a serious bomb in his garage using his dad's special stuff. I think we were about thirteen years old. Pouring black powder into a thread capped pipe and closing one end with a vise. The real dynamite fuse was water proof and a foot long. He wrapped the pipe with electrical tape..Willie said, well here you go guys, have fun.... years later the same kid was the head guy of the fireworks display for the city. We headed to the lake in the middle of town. Lit the fuse and tossed it into the park lake. Bean and I grabbed onto a tree and waited. You could see the bubbles and smoke as they busted on top of the water. The lake was shallow maybe ten foot deep. The explosion took a minute or two. The geyser that shot straight up was amazing. The ground shook and a dead carp came floating up to the surface. The whole neighborhood came alive and the cops and the fire trucks showed up. Nobody figured out what had happened. The pirates were long gone. That ended my bomb building days. Junior High had to be better, I had the gangster hairdo down by the ninth grade. Getting girls attention by pouring hot buttered popcorn over their heads at the movies. That, sure didn't workout well either.
Chapter II, Rebel Days
Life is on the move, I was just getting out of private school with all that structure, now to attend a regular Junior High. Starting anew, being a ninth grader. My life would be different in public school. My younger sister was enrolled in the same grade with me. We didn't share any of the same classrooms but I told you, she was smart. The Bean and I were ready for more crazy adventures. We added a new friend, " Mac" (another alias, like "Mac the Knife.") He is still a good friend of mine. He showed up at school carrying a chain inside his pant leg. It was a real concealed weapon, we were all afraid of the unknown but this was over kill. His defense against trouble. He moved into my neighborhood from the south side. Mac being a white boy from Ohio and living in a ethnic gangland part of town the move north was good one. He knew how to win an argument. The fact that he was bigger than Bean and I put together helped us feel safer. The three of us became fast friends, we talked him out of carrying weapons to school. The trio all were facing a new learning curve and environment, It just made more sense to stick together. My sister did the homework for all of us. The classes were fairly easy for me, kind of a repeat of my last year in Catholic school. Bean and I joined the Sea Scouts around this time. The scouts had this old patrol boat, “The Windy.” She was a real cool looking wood minesweeper. The crew were mostly older guys. The Skipper was hard as nails and let you know the score. He had to deal with this small criminal element, we called the crew. The problem was most of these guys were put there by a juvenile court judge. The boat harbor being in downtown Stockton after all, the Windy was moored in McCloud Lake. That left the new guys, to do all the scraping and rust patrol. That's right, Bean and I were the new guys. We learned a lot about cleaning and bilge diving in our first year. Our white hats had gotten pretty dirty during our indenture. The Windy never left the pier but she was very ship shape thank in part to us. I think probably the rest of the crew couldn't leave the pier either because of parole issues. I'm just saying, this group was real sorry the day, we moved on or abandon ship. Nobody else was standing in line to chip paint. This crew had other skills, more like pirates. I hadn't encountered this before, most anything kind'a shinny disappeared. We did learn how to “cuss'' like real sailors, the uniforms were very nice. I did have a problem finding a clean white hat. Thank goodness the judge appointed new guys to take our places. Tenth grade was more fun. We finally made it to High School. I worked all summer and got my first car, a 55' Chevy Bel-Air. I was almost seventeen with a new drivers license. Being a sophomore at High School was really different. The three amigo's had places to be and it wasn't in class. We started drinking something called Ruby Hill, a homemade wine. We had liberated it from a garage down the street. Two whole cases of eight one-gallon jugs. We weren't bad kids but we had stole this liquor. The three of us we're smart enough to leave the garage looking untouched. Signature red teeth and tongue, I wasn't sober for over a week or two. The morning ride to school was fun. The three young drunks boarding the bus everyday after we all hit the wine. Benito, Mac and Bean were real pirates after all. Dad and Mom split up around this time wonder why?. That was a hard time for my sisters too. The divorce did make it easier for this fool to be swayed. The lured to the dark side, I didn't need much of a push to get in trouble. My showing up for school during my rebel phase was rare. This behavior all ended the following year. Dad tracked me down after getting my report card. I was warned many a time to straighten out. The night the music died and the party ends. I'm enlisted in the Navy as a "kiddie cruiser." This meant your parents permission, not being eighteen. The parents had to sign the Navy's contract. My dad's red angry face made a good argument. The year was 1966, sniveling and dragging my butt didn't help either. I had developed cold feet just before the travel day.
Dad and I went toe-to-toe. My best, "James Dean" act was not working. Dad slugged me, I went down to the floor like a sack of flour. It wasn't very pretty the second time down either. The circus clown got up slowly, April Fool's Day had arrived. April 1, 1966, I departed for boot camp. Dad had won, he put me on that Greyhound bus, "Go Navy" see the world. That was the end of my rebel period.
Tenth grade dropout....great move
Chapter III, Getting Schooled
The first week of basic training scared the crap out of me. The Mamas and the Papas came out with “Monday, Monday,” a song that hit the music charts that same week.That tune became my marching anthem, my head shaved, standing tall just like the other guys, I had just turned seventeen. Life showed up in a big way. I won't bore you with these weeks of training but this young recruit was serious. Just saying, “yes sir" to everybody in sight, it was real. I was inoculated for every disease known to man. I took tests and more tests. I had to march everywhere or else. Well, it turns out my IQ was higher than my expectations. Looks like I was volunteering for submarine school. The six other volunteers with me now heading for the East Coast and a place called New London, Connecticut. The rest of my boot camp company headed out to the fleet. The conflict in Vietnam was heating up. The man power was needed. Graduation day in San Diego and who was there? Hell it was my “old man.” The ride back home was good. We were both different than a few months before. Dad laughed and we enjoyed each others company. The two weeks of "Navy Leave" at home was a great. time. Mac and Bean just stared at this spit-shined guy with no hair. We fell right back into our old ways. I had some coin in my pocket. The summer wind was blowing and "all was good". I went to see my first girlfriend, Shelley Beaver. She was beautiful, I had really missed her. I'd been gone a few months and love was in the air. This new navy guy and his sweetheart. She stood four foot two inches from her head to the ground. She was only fifteen. They called us, Mutt and Jeff. I looked like a long string bean next to her. The old Chevy made the scene, we all piled in. With the motor movies and the girls, I was back into my old gangster ways. We were all together Benito, Mac and Bean.
Leaving this world that I knew for my next Navy adventure was exciting. I took the hop from Travis airbase in California to an airbase across country in New Jersey. I had said my goodbyes in Stockton. I had traveling orders to the submarine school. Bean drove me to the airfield, we hugged each other and I departed. Now in uniform, Seaman Apprentice Alley was sitting with other service men on a military cargo plane. All the passengers were in these net seats hanging from the ceiling. the sides of the interior walls of the plane unfinished. This rust bucket with wings reminded me of an old classic John Wayne movie. We were ready for takeoff. This old transport flew to Texas. after spending the night. The flight continued on to New Jersey the next morning. This trip took a day and a half but it was free. I swear the traffic below on the interstate was moving faster than the aircraft. The guys sitting with me were from different branches of the service. Traveling east, a lot of them were returning from Vietnam. They all seemed glad to be back in the U.S.A. This Army guy next to me was very talkative. He told me some of his stories but mostly talked about Texas and home. That said, most of the men thought I was nuts for wanting to be on a submarine. Having mixed but positive feelings, I just smiled. These guys, getting shot at were worried about my choices? They were real heroes in my mind.
The plane finally landed in New Jersey somewhere. I took a Trailways's bus to New York City. Grand Central train station was a zoo, people were traveling in all directions. Public restrooms here were very scary places in uniform. The strange faces all around. I was glad to catch the train out to New London, Connecticut. There was another sailor in uniform on this train as we headed North. He was much older than me, a first-class petty officer. I sat next to him. His shoulder patch indicated he was a cook. We exchanged names. Richard was also heading to the Submarine Base in New London. I kept calling him “Sir.” That got a smile. "Listen kid” I know you are new in the navy but I'm enlisted man too. I was sure he could tell how scared I was. This being my second train ride and headed to the unknown. Richard and I really hit it off. He told me, that he was going to the same place too. He remarked how lucky I was to be selected for Submarine school. He'd been trying for years to get this chance. The train passed through New Haven as I stared out the window. The East Coast was so different than California. We talked about his family. Richard had been a navy cook for twelve years. The island of Guam was his real home. He and his wife, we're raising three kids. Richard had been stationed in Norfolk,Virginia. He had been on an aircraft carrier. Cooking for the officer's mess on-board. Security clearance held him back from submarine service because of his nationality. He told me a rear admiral fixed it for him because the admiral was once a sub sailor. The admiral told him that they needed good cooks on these fleet submarines. Wow! It made me realize how important this chance might be. Did they really need a drop out like me? After we arrived at the train station, the navy bus was waiting and took us to the sub base in Groton across the river. Traveling light, I had my orders and a duffel bag. Richard went to a different set of barracks because he was a petty officer. We didn't hangout together again. The base was beautiful. It was like an old ivy league college. My room was on the third floor which I shared with three other roommates. This was the end of July and the hot sticky air was heavy that late afternoon.
I had arrived on a Sunday. The officer of the deck told me to write a letter home and mail it. Then I found the mess hall. The chow was great and I was starving. The next morning, standing in the shower. I was washing the sleep out of my eyes. Some of the guys were smirking at me. I was six foot two inches and weighed one hundred thirty-two pounds. That's because I'd put on some weight in basic training. My Adam’s apple was my most prominent feature. Acne and peach fuzz were battling it out for second place. I looked like this skinny fourteen year old. I was the youngest student on the base. The clerical staff had looked through my military/personal file and sent it upstairs to the old man. The Captain of the submarine base called me in on the carpet, I almost peed my pants. This guy was not happy. He started by saying, I'm not a babysitter and how the hell did you get on my base? This is a serious program, and half the students don't make the cut. Do you understand me, “boy?" Most of these guys had been to college or had enough schooling to pass these physical demands and mental drills. The Captain continued, I need you to dropout of this program. I'll make sure you get a good assignment. I told the Captain, no sir. I'm not dropping this training and my test scores support me. This was not an easy thing for me to say, after all this was a volunteer program. The Captain couldn't kick me out of it, unless I failed. This wet behind the ears kid had a new inspiration, his name was Richard. That cook help me realize how important this chance really was. I had failed on all my past endeavors like school, the sea scouts and the shoe shine business. This was the best school of its kind on the planet. I was dismissed. I saluted the Captain and left. I started the Submarine School that next week. That was the first and last time I said, “No” to an officer. The class of 1966' was studying the USS. Skipjack, a fast attack nuclear submarine. The base was amazing and the training center was really high tech. The work was hard but rewarding. The physical exercises were fun. Swimming was one of my strengths and I enjoyed the lake behind the school. The Tower escape was mandatory; submarine escape was an important safety issue. All the boats had escape hatches built in. All submarine sailors had to know how they worked. The museum was also fantastic, it had items and stories from as far back as the Civil War. Submarines had come a long way. The fleet boats, the older diesel and battery driven subs were still in active service here. A boy my age was starstruck and I still am. These days seemed to fly by. The eight weeks of school and drills would soon be over. New London was a small town with Mom and Pop stores, cafes and bars with blue laws. These blue law's were in place to stop women from entering bars not escorted. Meeting the opposite sex was futile in this town. No women allowed rule kept me on task in school. The sleepy little village was not friendly to navy personnel anyway. Taking the train to New Haven for a weekend was way better. College girls and entertainment were on my radar.
Yale University was a good start. The problem with me in uniform was I looked like I was wearing my older brother's navy duds. College girls didn't care about horny high school age kids. That said, I struck out all the time anyway. There was a nightclub in a church basement on campus. The “Hungry Eye,” they served coffee and espresso and no ID was required. The big plus was “Peter, Paul and Mary,” were packing the place. Perfect! believe it or not, I met a girl, her name was Ellen. She went to high school and liked my California swagger. Ellen was the second girl, I'd ever dated. The lies, I told her would make a pirate blush. We wrote each other for a year. On my salary, she was a pen pal and not much more, but I got to vent. She was very sympathetic and kept me on an even keel. Back at the base, I finally got to ride on a submarine for the day. The class got to roam and ask questions. There were maybe ten students and me. To submerge and surface the sub was a thrill. This old diesel boat had a deck gun and a five-man bridge. It smelled bad and creaked a lot but she was a submarine. I crawled all around it. She saw action in the Pacific and was built in 1942. The crew was real sharp. I really wanted to be on one of the new nuclear subs. I had spent weeks learning about them. My test scores were great but the time had come, just one more step to complete the program.
Pass or failure rode on the results. We had lost many already from the program. These training classes and tests were tough. Today was the day for our escape training class. We all knew the drill on paper. They'd scared us to death with what could happen in that tank. Stepping into the small chamber attached to a one hundred nineteen foot water tower. The six inch thick walled tank of water was something. The small area held six guys and an instructor. We were about halfway up the tower's side. It was at the fifty foot level outside of this watertight door. The escape tank, we occupied was similar to one on a submarine. The air valves and water flood pipes were all there. Each man wore an inflatable life vest that vented under pressure. The entry door was closed behind us and dogged. The flooding of the chamber began. All eyes were glued to the rising water. The bubble line was over the top of this small outer hatch that opened to the big tank. When the water had risen to this line and above the outer hatch. Now the interesting part began. The teacher started bleeding air into the chamber until the pressure equaled the outside pressure at fifty foot level. The rushing air built up the pressure, we all held our noses to equalize the inner ear. Bad things could happen under this kind of pressure, like bleeding ear canals and other perils. The instructor watched each man to make sure, we were in compliance. Now the fun started in alphabetical order. “Alley” meant the first one out the hatch was me, it was unlocked and swung open. Water did not flood in because of the equalizing air pressure on the water above the line. You could feel the tension among the guys in that small space. I was glad to be the first one leaving the escape pod. After taking a deep breath, I submerged my head under the water and stepped out through the hatch. Now holding the bar over the exit hatch in the outside tank, totally submerged. I was standing on this step. I was looking up to a small surface circle at the top. That was a long way up. The trick was not to panic. Then release your grip, letting the air out of your lungs slowly as you shoot up like a rocket. Anybody holding their breath on the way up could result in death or worse being drummed out of sub school. Air expands under pressure, so you make air bubbles and go. Its just nineteen seconds to the top. The life vest was blowing bubbles too. The problem in my head was why not blow all the air out of my lungs. Then hold my breath to the top? That will work right? I launched myself to the surface after blowing out all my air. Nineteen seconds no problem. Two scuba divers grabbed me and threw me through another door maybe twelve foot up from my step off. Now in this chamber at the forty foot level. I gasp for air in the pocket above the bubble line. The one diver swims in to check on me. What the hell are you doing? We didn't see your bubbles! Now do it right! With another inhale, I step out and blew little bubbles to the surface. I shot out of the water to my ankles. I swear to God. The bad news was they made me do it, two more times but I passed. I think I left a brown cloud down there somewhere. We pirates are real. The crazy part of it was I enjoyed the next two trips. I tried to clear the surface with both feet out of the water. Blow and Go was fun! Who knew? The ones who didn't leave the small chamber, went out the door they came in and off to the surface fleet. Submarine school was over.
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