This reporter spent one day in the Navy
I spent one day in the Navy, 1,010 in the Army.
Actually, it was because of the Navy that I joined the Army.
The day that determined my fate was Friday, March 24, 1961. I was a 16-year-old Costa Mesa High School junior and a participant in “Navy Day,” sponsored by the U.S. Navy and staged on the Essex-class aircraft carrier, the USS Yorktown.
The Yorktown, nicknamed “The Fighting Lady,” was built during World War II.
“Navy Day” was a public relations effort intended to influence potential recruits. I was one of a hundred high school journalists who took part in the daylong cruise. I was sports editor of Costa Mesa High’s Hitching Post.
My journalism teacher, Nina Hardy, recommended me for the cruise.
Participants were expected to publish in their high school newspapers articles about their Navy experience. Our stories would reach hundreds of potential recruits.
As I recall, my mom dropped me off early that Friday morning at Long Beach Harbor, Yorktown’s homeport. The Yorktown, by the way, was decommissioned in June, 1970. In 1975, she became a museum ship and National Historic Landmark at Patriots Point in Charleston, S.C.
I saw her again, 42 years later, in 2003, during a visit to Charleston.
Sometime after our arrival on board, we began our tour of the ship, and the Yorktown pulled quietly out of port. She steamed to an area somewhere beyond Catalina Island.
The Navy did a great job of impressing us. I was wowed, to say the least.
At noon we had a pretty good meal in the mess hall. My dad — a World War II Army mess sergeant — had warned me about “crummy Navy chow,” but the Yorktown’s food tasted good to me. I figured dad was exhibiting his natural Army vs. Navy bias.
Once we reached our sea destination, gunners opened up the ship’s 38- and 50-caliber guns on a multitude of floating targets. It was quite a show, and this impressionable 16-year-old was digging it.
And, I was a sucker for Navy uniforms — bell-bottoms and white service caps. Are you kidding? Sailor suits! No other branch of the service had better-looking uniforms than the Navy.
Man, oh man, did a sailor look rakish with a pack of Camels in his breast pocket (though I never smoked). But, three years later, I opted for poplin shirts, garrison caps and Army khakis and fatigues, although the decision had nothing to do with uniforms.
Later that Friday, a Navy jet circled the massive carrier a couple of times and landed on the pitching deck. How cool!
To say that the Navy won my heart that day is an understatement. The Navy had me signed, sealed and delivered.
Except …
Just before disembarking, I approached a random sailor. I asked if he’d give me a quote for my paper. All the boys at my high school, I told him, would read it.
“You wanna join the Navy, kid?” he asked. “Really? If I wuz youse, I wouldn’t join this branch of the military. I hate sea duty. I shoulda been a soldier. Go to school; work in a coal mine; or just be a drifter, but don’t join the Navy.”
What? The ship’s public affairs officer had obviously not briefed this guy in advance of Yorktown’s open house. But his words carried weight. He was a Navy “insider.”
All the P.R. I’d been subjected to over the previous 12 hours was blown to smithereens by one guy’s negativity.
In 1964, when I decided to cheat the draft and enlist, I remembered what my Yorktown friend said. I figured he’d had no reason to lie.
So I joined the Army.
Eighteen months later, in 1965, I was sent by Naval troop ship to Korea with 4,000 other G.I.s. It took us 23 days. We were miserably seasick much of the way. Get me to dry land!
The wisdom of my decision was dramatically confirmed.
Sorry, “Fighting Lady,” ma’am.
JIM CARNETT worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years and writes occasional commentary pieces for Times Community News.