A Day to Honor

A Day to Honor

In his speech, in which he asked the Congress of the United States of America to declare war upon the Empire of Japan, President Roosevelt said, "...a day that will live in infamy" and so tagged it forever.  Walter Lord wrote the book, "Day of Infamy," which I read sometime around 1962.  I was born in 1944, a product of the war, for my parents might never have met had it not been for that war; this was so of many of my generation.  We grew up with the words "Pearl Harbor" even if we did not fully grasp all that they meant.

I enlisted in the navy in 1961 at age seventeen; I had to have my mother's written permission to enlist.  I did my basic training in San Diego at the behemoth Naval Training Center and then I went to Radar "A" School in San Francisco for six months, and then, I was in the navy, the real navy, and by that  I mean on a ship.  I went aboard the USS Point Defiance (LSD-31) on December 28, 1961 when I was still seventeen.  Shortly after the first of the year, 1962, we steamed to Hawaii.  

As a radarman I spent my working day buried in darkness, in a small room, not much bigger than the closet of most girls I had known growing up in Pawhuska, Oklahoma.  It was called the repeater room because it held our two radar repeaters and it was lighted only by the eerie glow emitted by them.  The radar itself was a large box of vacuum tubes, wires, cables and capacitors which sent out a signal, let it bounce back and retrieved it.  A repeater "repeated" the signal as a series of blips which we could see on the monitor.  My world was lights, knobs, sound powered telephones, darkness, blips on the screen and orders from my senior petty officer.  I did not see the outdoors, sunlight, ocean, islands, from my job position.  But, fortunately, when we encountered sufficient land mass, the big radar received too many echoes too rapidly to separate A and became a bright greenish mass on the monitor screen, too difficult to interpret, a condition known as land locked.  

Fortunately, as we entered Pearl Harbor, the radar became landlocked, and our watch officer reported it and asked the Bridge for permission to secure, which was granted.  So, I was given permission to leave my job in CIC and go out on deck and see the world most deck sailors saw routinely.  It was amazing entering Pearl Harbor.  It was late January or early February, winter in my home, and here it was a beautiful, green spring day.  I stood on one side, starboard, I think, and watched as we passed cranes, hangers, dry docks, more ships than you can imagine.  It is a long harbor and takes time to negotiate.  I was a kid, seventeen, and I was in awe of all I saw then.  And then, we were there, Ford Island, tied to the side.  Just in front of us, literally, was a ship I knew of only from books and films, and now, I was standing on the brow of my ship and looking down at the ship in front of us, below the waterline, visible but only in a ghost like view.  The water gave it a greenish pall, perhaps because of the constant oil seepage still going on then.  The year was 1962, barely twenty years after the events of December 7, 1941, and there were so many survivors then who had been somewhere on Hawaii.  Both military and civilian people were affected that day and all of them had memories which could be easily tapped.  Many feelings were still raw and a slight conversation could trigger something and people would talk to you in somber tones, recall someone they knew who died that day.  Everyone suffered.

I was standing alone then, looking down upon the hulk of the USS Arizona (BB-39).  I can recall my feelings then, such a mixture of feelings.  I was in awe of the battle, saddened by the loss of so many good men, ashamed of our failure then, why we had been so badly defeated.  I could not pull my eyes away from the ship beneath the water.  The gun turrets had been removed, which I did not then understand.  The mounts where the gun turrets had been were visible, the mounts upon which giant gears had turned the turrets pointing long barrels towards the targets somewhere out there, for the guns could fire nearly fifteen miles away.  It was a death ship, it was a cemetery, it was a memorial.  The Arizona Memorial had not yet been built and was only planning in the future then.  Until then, everything for me had been history, something I had read in a book, seen in a film, such as "From Here to Eternity" or been told.  Looking down on the Arizona, it was real.  Men had died there.  My sense of the world was changed then.  A friend soon came up and we talked, probably the nonsense of two seventeen year old boys.  We probably smoked a cigarette then as we talked, leaning on the lines that prevented us from falling overboard.  We may have laughed, we may have joked, but we could not shake off the feeling of somberness that overcame us.

December 7 is a day I remember every year.  I wake up thinking about it, about seeing the USS Arizona, the feelings I had that day looking down on her remains.  I take time to honor the day in some way.  I may do something special that I have not done all year such as a special dinner.  I pay for the dinner for the only Pearl Harbor survivor I know.  He eats a small dinner, wears his cap all the time and is greeted by the people who know him.  Each year may be his last one for he has passed 90 years now.  I wish we could do more to honor him for his life here today represents not only his, but all the lives lost that day, the men he knew and with whom he served.  When he comes into the restaurant, we should stand as a group, call attention on deck and render him a full hand salute.  That won't happen, but we owe him.  Perhaps my small annual gesture is something to him; it's not enough, no, but maybe it honors him.  I hope so.

Stephen Joe "Red Boots" Payne 

November 23, 1963

November 23, 1963

Fifty years ago on that day I was aboard the USS Point Defiance (LSD-31) in Hong Kong Harbor.  It was November 23 because we were across the International Date line and the 23rd had arrived for us while the day in Dallas, Texas had been November 22.  Then there was the morning after.  I was a nineteen year old 3rd class radarman, petty officer (E-4) and I was standing the deck watch as Petty Officer of the Watch.  Our watch had an officer, a petty officer and an E-3 messenger.  It was dark and cold.  I was wearing dark blue, what were called undress blue, and I may have had my heavy jacket (a pea coat) on.  

I do not remember who the officer and messenger were that morning.  I remember the radio messenger but not his name today, but I remember his face.  There had been several sequences to begin the day.  First, the LCVP on duty had just left with a full boat of liberty crew.  It was very cold in the boat and to a man, all of them had on the heavy, dark blue pea coats.  I had helped the Officer of the deck in dispatching the liberty crew down the side into the LCVP.

The lead petty officer in the boat that morning was a first class from below decks, a machinist mate I think.  He was a good man, with an outgoing personality, winning smile and a friendly manner.  He had been the last to enter the LCVP and was making some joke as he saluted the ensign to the stern of the ship, barked out "Permission to go ashore, sir" to the officer and disappeared down the side of the ship and into the LCVP.  I stood, watching the wake of the LCVP in the dawning light and listening to the powerful engine as it moved the boat towards the massive neon lighted Mercedes-Benz sign over Hong Kong Harbor, where the liberty pier lay.  I was not thinking of liberty but of my earned sleep.  I had been up and on the deck since before 04:00 hours, I was tired, cold, hungry and ready for my break.

The three of us were talking, drinking coffee, joking, laughing, a typical watch.  I saw the radio messenger walking down from the 02 level towards us, a sailor I knew.  He was a seaman (E-3), radio striker and carrying a metal messenger board, positioning it out in front so that I knew he was bringing a message to the officer.  As petty officer I would see the message first, make the signature for receipt and then pass it on to the officer on deck.  I was trying to talk to the messenger, having fun, making light and I could not shake him.  He seemed so serious, as though the air had gone out of him, more than air, it was as though the light had gone out of him.  The day was still dark and though we had lights on and around the quarterdeck, I had not yet looked up and into his face.  I was talking to him as I signed the message receipt and then I read it, once, then again.  I looked at him then and tears were streaming down his face.  I remember some things of how I felt, of how I suddenly changed from a laughing, joking young man to a somber sailor with duties in front of me.  There was a feeling as though my whole body had been suddenly and violently jerked.  I felt sickness in my stomach that invaded me and traveled all over me.  I read it again and I looked at the messenger.  

"Is this a joke?" I fairly barked out at him.  No answer came but he slowly, sadly shook his head no.  The officer stepped quickly to us and asked, "What is it?"  I could not let go of the onion skin paper I held in my hand, even though by now the officer was holding it too.  Navy messages have a standard form, a lot of time, date, from and to information, and then the message.  They are usually routine. This was not routine.  There was too much detail in that for me to recall, from Comsomething to all US navy ships and personnel, etc.  I'll never forget the message.  It was typed in all capital letters and was simple.  "Lower all flags to half mast in honor of the death of President John F. Kennedy."

"LOWER ALL FLAGS TO HALF MAST IN HONOR OF THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT JOHN F. KENNEDY."

The words fairly shouted from the page.

The officer asked, "Is this a joke?"  We couldn't grasp it and each of us kept asking that.  The messenger was a good guy, a tough guy who rarely smiled but he was still a good guy, and he was in such pain.  Then we asked him, "What happened?"  He couldn't speak.  He merely shook his head in the universal "Don't know."  The officer began to think then, "Have you notified the Captain?"  I don't remember the answer but we had duties to perform and I know we must have started them.

The LCVP we had dispatched was now returning, an LCVP which would normally have been empty save for the coxswain (boat driver) and assistant.  As it gained on our ship, we saw it full of dark uniforms with pea coats and white hats.  Not a single sailor had stayed behind on the beach and we wondered with new dread.  The first class petty officer who had been the last to leave the ship, with his masterful salute and booming "Permission to go ashore sir" was the first to top the ladder and face us.  This time he did not turn aft to face the ensign, he did not salute, he did not speak.  This strong man, with his natural leadership only turned to face us, holding an English Hong Kong newspaper with the massive black headline, "JFK Assassinated".  Now we knew how our President had died, ending the speculation we had moments before been expressing.  Now all of it set in:  the shock, the pain, the disbelief, the sadness, and then the anger.

Where were you on November 22, 1963?  The question echoes down for fifty years and everyone says that they remember, that they can't forget where they were and what they were doing on November 22, 1963.  I remember nothing about November 22 but I will remember November 23 for all my life, as I have done.  

Today, as fifty years of remembrance approaches, I can still feel the shock, the numbness, the pain, the disbelief and eventually the anger.  We were some 300 aboard the USS Point Defiance, my home for over three years, men whom I knew from our time together, from what was common to us.  We shared the uniform, the mess hall, the open decks, the time at sea, old salts we were called then, men who had been across oceans, some of us still remembering the Cuban Missile Crisis, our mission to Bangkok in 1962, the Thresher recovery mission and our journey to Viet Nam.  In a word, veterans; we thought we had done it all except for actual combat, for shots fired.  We were tough, experienced, world travelers and nothing could faze us.  We had been across the equator twice and each of us carried his Shellback card as proof, so that we would never have to experience that initiation again.  

What was common that day was a feeling shared.  Most of what we did, we did in silence.  I know I was hungry but did I go the mess and have breakfast?  I don't remember, but I know that if I did, I ate in silence.  I, a talkative and excited young man who loved to share experiences and opinions; I had nothing to say then.  I couldn't even talk about how I had learned, how the messenger had come to us on the quarterdeck with the news.  Not yet.  Later, I would talk about it and share my feelings and relive that moment.  Fifty years later I still have some of the same feelings.  I still feel disbelief.  I feel a sense of failure, as though it had been our job to protect the President and we had failed in it.  He was more than a man, as the flag is more than a dyed piece of cloth.  He was the symbol for everything that was the United States of America and that was our sworn oath, to protect the Constitution of the United States of America, the nation, our home and our President.  It was implied, and we had failed. It was the most helpless feeling, made more so as we began to get the news and learn that one man had done so much damage.  Anger came later and lots of it.  I wanted to personally strike the man who had shot the President.  

Every generation has a moment when we lose our innocence and learn that the world isn't really what we thought it was a short time before.  But I don't think we have ever had such a universal and tragic sense of loss for the world.  The entire world felt it, the world sympathized with us.  For a moment we were all Americans, everyone, everywhere.  The world stopped that day.  And I never believed it would stop again in that same way for me but then, again on September 11, 2001, I saw the world stop once again.

But I was older then, in 2001, by many years, and I had had many life experiences, good and bad; still, nothing prepared me for what I saw with the towers.  But back then, in 1963, the world seemed so much more simple and innocent.  The truth was probably not that simple for we lived in a world that was censured and hidden from us.  Much of our lives were hidden from view and controlled in so many ways and except for dark, hidden, underground press, all we got as news was spoon fed to us.

The date per se doesn't matter, but the question persists.  Where were you when you learned Kennedy had been killed?  What were you doing?  Like millions of citizens of the world, I remember, I will remember, and I will always feel sadness and today the sadness, the loss, persists more than the anger.  But I resent that one man stole so much from us, from all of us.

That's where I was, Hong Kong Harbor, a day in November of 1963, and that's what I was doing, standing the quarterdeck watch with an officer I liked and admired.  One minute, we were having fun; the next, our lives were lost and confused, and no matter what has happened since then, part of that loss and confusion remains.  It will always be with me.

Stephen

Wearing with Pride

Times goes by and things change.  The Marines have a saying, "Once a Marine, always a Marine" and the corollary is, "There is no such thing as an ex-marine."  One of my friends from Pawhuska who joined the navy told me that he could not wait for his first hitch to be over, but then he found the civilian life offered to him was not offering enough to provide for his family.  So, he re-enlisted and made a career of the navy.  Obviously, he has a lot of pride in his naval career as he was a first class petty officer.  He was in a rating that had many people so advancement was more difficult than in some ratings and all of us who have served know that.  We have all seen talented people in the wrong rating who did not advance in that rating.  Some re-enlist for a school in a different rating and move on up.  I was a Radarman so our field was fairly open as opposed to the Boatswain's Mate rating.  I was in only my single four year hitch.  I remain pleased that I was a petty officer and I do not regret my decision to get out of the navy.  Neither do I regret my decision to join the navy.  I work with recruiters a bit where I live and I am there in their offices sometimes when young men come in and announce, "I want to join the Marines."  I watch them sometimes with such mixed feelings for it is apparent right away that they can not meet the minimum standards and I have watched a sergeant ask six or seven questions that quickly disqualify them.  I am then so grateful that I had the physical qualifications and I could pass all of the tests required to join the navy.  I then made it through boot camp, qualified for a school, completed it with high scores and served aboard ship.  Like Bill, my friend who made it a career, I couldn't wait for my hitch to be over and I was then ex-navy.  Or was I?  We old salts do not emphasize it as much as the Marine Corps does, but, as I said, times goes by and things change.  As I have acquired some years and so much of my navy experience, training, education and friendships comes back to me again and again, I, like a marine am beginning to believe that there is no such thing as an ex-sailor, ex-navy.  It's too deep in our blood by the time we have completed our service.  And there is another truth to which I will readily submit:  We don't remember things the way they were.  We remember them the way we want to and that is what makes things better.  But there is more to it than that also.  As we get older, we just appreciate things more than we did in those years when all we wanted to do was get on with life; or what we thought life was going to be.  John Lennon said, "Life is what happens while you are making other plans."  Life happens too, and plans we made at early ages are usually shown to have been a human comedy and in the end, we are left with the life we lived, not the one we planned to live.  For a few, and that is a very few, plans and life worked out to be the same.  I think it's more fun opening the packages that we did not know what was in them.  I am grateful that I can acquire a few things that say "I was in the navy," such as my USS Point Defiance (LSD-31) ball cap I am wearing in the photograph, and the jacket which reads NAVY in large letters.  I wear them with pride and today I think I am still navy, still a sailor and now I believe, "Once a navy sailor, always one."

Stephen Joe Payne

December 6, 2010 Before Pearl Harbor Day

Tomorrow will be December 7, 2010, sixty-nine years from the date that the Empire of Japan attacked the United States in Hawaii.  Although other bases were hit and nearly destroyed, we remember the naval base at Pearl Harbor and it is most often spoken of as Pearl Harbor Day.  Probably we remember it so because the navy lost more personnel that day than the other branches of the service and also more that single day than during the rest of the war.  It was a terrible day.  It was a great tragedy.  It would be a tragedy to not remember Pearl Harbor.  It is a day that I hope will always be solemnly and thoughtfully remembered, with lasting respect for the sailors, soldiers, marines, airmen, doctors, nurses and civilians who lost their lives that day.   I noted that the assassination of President Kennedy was barely observed this year and I had to check my calendar to confirm the date.  I fear that if it isn’t news today and filled with the antics or troubles of young stars, the news media will give it little due and that disturbs me.  The great events through which our nation has passed and which marked her and us and helped to form our character should not be trivialized and over looked.  I hope we will not let Pearl Harbor pass without notice.  I hope the news media will pay homage and remind us of the terrible sacrifices made that day; but if they do, let us take a moment to remember and if we have the courage, let us say to someone we meet, “Remember Pearl Harbor.”  I do not write with hatred but only with the hope that a deep remembrance will remind us of just how horrible war is and move us closer to making it truly a thing of the past.  War only destroys and wastes.  Remember Pearl Harbor, not only tomorrow, but forever, and let us find a way to end war forever.  I offer that as my prayer, Lord, please let us end war for always.

Stephen Joe Payne

United States Navy 1961-1965

USS Point Defiance (LSD-31), December 28. 1961- January 22, 1965

Radarman 3rd Class Petty Officer (E-4)

The Night Before Life Goes On

Watch #9

Chief Petty Officer Hall was a pleasant man, tall with a nice face, a thin mustache that looked good on him, smiling eyes, and a jovial nature.  He tried to identify with us, but he didn't try too hard, the way some adults did.  We didn't hang out together and Jess and I were too young to drink beer, legally.  But when we were at his office, we did share jokes, any experiences we had and we smoked cigarettes together.  We asked as many questions as we could but movies were really all we knew.  We knew few nautical terms beyond ship, and anchor.  In spite of how little we really had in common, we were getting along well, our visits were more regular and I was gradually leaning towards the navy, just because of Edgar and this strange new friendship I was developing.  I have not yet mentioned it but I was not raised by my father.  My mother and he had divorced in the months before I was born and I was raised by my mother and my grandmother, until her death in 1961.  I had never met my father, nor talked to him on the telephone, nor exchanged any letters.  This alone left me hungry for male roles, for father figures and I think Chief Hall filled one of those at this moment.

I remember the feeling of being in his Ponca office with Jess and other boys who dropped by, the look of his uniform, the general feeling of the atmosphere, many visual details.  I do not remember any specific things we discussed.  I do not remember any programs we discussed, any promises, seeing a recruiting form or contracts of any kind.  I do not remember when he made the first venture to talk to my mother.  I remember a long talk with her one evening in which she grilled me about what I wanted to do.  I did not honestly know.  I knew I had to find a way out of the downward spiral that I knew I was in.  I knew that if I did not do something, make a big change to get hold of my self, I would only experience more trouble.  Somehow, we pretty well agreed and she gave me permission to enlist in the navy; as we brave sailors would say, "In this man's navy," although I have never figured out what that meant but I've heard John Wayne say it too.

There were some papers signed, I signed a few, my mother signed a few, Chief Hall signed all of them and then some more.  He was in our home, with my mother and me, explaining many things, at a dizzying pace, and I was understanding very little of it.  I felt a whirlwind of emotions: excitement, anticipation, anxiety, joy, sadness and an uncommon amount of fear.  It was not the kind of fear I had felt when I knew I was going to be beat up by a bully, or get a whipping from a teacher; nor was it the same fear I had felt in the last seconds before I had crashed a bicycle, a motor scooter, or fallen out of a tree.  It was deep fear, about the future, and yes, I had buyer's remorse, without even knowing what it was; a nagging feeling in my stomach that I had done something wrong.

It was, as Carie Underwood sang, "The night before life goes on."

More on the next watch.

Stevie Joe Payne

Further Along the Journey to the Point Defiance

Watch #8

I wasn't running with bad kids.  But all of us had problems and especially two of my friends.  One of them we often called the Big Indian, even when he was sitting there with us.  He used to kid me heavily after a movie we had seen called "I Passed for White."  He would say, "Well, Payne passes for white so let's send him in."   The "in" was a restaurant or store where we joked that they might not let Indians in.  Jess Paul Tomey, the Big Indian, said he was a Pottawatomie Indian and I never doubted it.  Most of my friends in Pawhuska were Osage Indians, including many of my relatives.  I am Cherokee and only one-eighth Cherokee, but I have always been more interested in my one-eighth Cherokee than my seven-eighths everything else.  David Meriable was an Osage and our friend Charley Edgar, who would have a lasting impact upon Jess and me, by what he did, never mentioned Indian in his heritage.  Charley Edgar was the oldest among us and with a confusing romantic situation with his girlfriend, he was lost.  His parents had divorced, adding to his confusion and Charley was talking to military recruiters although he barely shared that with us.  I don't remember what season it was, but suddenly, Charley had enlisted in the navy on what was called a "Kiddie Cruise."    The navy minority enlistment worked this way:  A sailor enlisted after he was seventeen years of age, but less than eighteen.  Then, he was discharged from the enlistment one day before his twenty-first, or majority birthday.  Hence, it was called a minority enlistment and got nicknamed the "Kiddie Cruise."  Edgar did good research and exercised even better timing so he enlisted one day before his eighteenth birthday; that meant he would leave the navy with just three years of service while receiving credit for four years.

Edgar had gone to Ponca City, forty miles west of Pawhuska along Highway 60 and a much larger town than Pawhuska to meet the recruiter.  Pawhuska had a population of about 5,000 in 1960 while Ponca City had a population of nearly 30,000.  Through Edgar, I met the recruiter, a nice fellow named Hall.  When I understood more, I would learn why he wore a bus driver's uniform instead of the sailor suit I had known. Hall was a Chief Petty Officer and a radarman to boot.  Jess Paul and I made several trips to Ponca with Edgar and, without any intention of joining the navy, we were talking to him more each time.  By then, he knew us by sight and by name.  He was rapidly becoming our new best friend.

More on the next watch

Stevie Joe Payne

How I Got to The USS Point Defiance (LSD-31)

Watch #7

I want to go back over the path that I took to reach the Point Defiance.  Naturally, I received orders, probably from BUNAVPERS which was the Bureau of Naval Personnel, while I was still in Radar "A" School at Treasure Island.  But the path began long before that.  Back when I was very young I had a friend, Jackie Manley, whose father operated the Army/Navy Surplus Store in Pawhuska, Oklahoma so, naturally, a bit like Ron Kovic (Born on the Fourth of July), we played army.  With some of the artifacts we could acquire, helmets, utility belts, folding spades, canvas, we could imitate a fairly good soldier.  We did not have everything; we lacked real rifles, grenades, other things.  I remember having an army canteen for drinking water with a canvas container that fit on a utility belt.  Most of the things we acquired still had the odor of a soldier, which was a bit of a negative part, but not enough to discourage us.  We assumed some rank, lined up together against some unseen enemy and made daring charges over a hill, courageously in the face of enemy fire, which we basically created with the sounds coming from our mouths.  We could make the sounds of rifles, machine guns, grenades and even some heavy artillery with amazing accuracy, especially for never having heard these sounds in real life.  Somehow, the boys around me and the movies were creating a deep military culture within me.  My friend Jackie was in a severe automobile accident when he was around nineteen or so, and never recovered from it.  He lay with brain damage for the rest of his life and died from the effects of his injuries many years after the accident.

 As I got a little older, somehow my attention shifted to the United States Marine Corps, where I came to believe that the roughest, toughest and most daring men alive dwelt and that's what I wanted to be:  A Marine.  My friend Jerry Traylor and I even developed what we thought was our own code; the code of Semper Fidelis.  We may not have understood it was Latin and translated to "Always Faithful" but we grasped that it was a code and a very serious one; one of honor, of duty, of commitment and mostly, of deep and lasting brotherhood.  Like all boys, sometimes as we got older and found new viewpoints, we changed friends some and Jerry and I did.  But we still knew each other, still saw each other now and then.

As I got older and I became more interested in motor scooters, motor cycles, cars, and other things, I was not thinking about the Marines so much but about life in high school and having fun.  Around ages fourteen to sixteen, some of us were smoking, talking tough, thinking we were tough, and acting cool.  We didn't know what cool was but we thought we did.  Some of us got a little wild, some wilder than others and as we moved into relationships with young women, sometimes life became very complicated.  The complications included jealousy, heart break, anger, love, loneliness, betrayal, possessiveness, pain, teenage angst, "Problems, problems" as the Everly Brothers sang.  I had them, and most problems related to my girl friend and our relationship.  But I was also influenced by some of my friends and the looming thing in front of us by a few years:  The Draft.  If we didn't go on to college, marry, find certain jobs, the draft board was out there, looking for us and would one day send us a letter requiring us to serve and for most, that meant the United States Army.  That wasn't bad.  Let me put it this way.  Audie L. Murphy was in the army, and he was always my hero.

More on the next watch.

Stevie Joe Payne