Life is Precious #8 - The Night I Almost Died, Yet Learned To Live... (Part 2)
On this solemn Memorial Day here in America, I've taken the time to reflect on the many servicemen and women our country has lost to war. I salute them for their sacrifice and their service. Members of my family have served in many of our nations conflicts, and as a true patriot, I'm a proud honorably discharged veteran of the US Navy.
Today's post is a continuation of an account I published here two years ago that cut a little too close to home. In Part 1 of Life is Precious #8 - The Night I Almost Died, Yet Learned To Live..., I shared (more like relived), the harrowing night I was swept overboard while disposing of classified trash on a stormy night during rough seas.
It was the scariest night of my life.
Now, before I get started, I'd like to point out the joy I'm currently feeling at the burst of creativity I've had over the last week and the weekend. I moved the missing post from Sunday to another place, not a big deal. Just wanted to share this for my regular readers who wondered why it was gone. The post was about the fount of creativity I realized I had over the weekend, and how it has improved my post creation and inner joy (there goes that word again!). Writing seems to come easier to me all of a sudden, as I usually tend to be a tinkerer. So in this window where I have the time to post, I'm going to jump right in.
Now, back to me in the Navy...
I suggest you begin with part 1 in order to get a taste of the full flavor of the sheer terror I was in holding classified trash in one hand, while holding on (for dear life) to the railings with the other. My ship was the original USS Spruance DD-963, affectionately known as "The Quiet Warrior." This destroyer was the first of the original Spruance class of warships that we still see today.
Part 1 was a long post that few people saw. In fact felt.buzz was the only one who left a comment on that lonely post. I've found over the years that longer posts don't usually get read, but felt led to wrap this story up so that it can live on the blockchain. So that's one reason I didn't write a part 2 back then, the other reason was that it forced me to relive every. terrifying. moment. So I had to stop for emotional reasons after writing that whole thing again, but here we are stronger than ever to give you the finale.
The classified trash disposal guy
So picture me at midnight (which was when we took the trash out at the end of the evening shift. I served as an OS (Operations Specialist) in CIC (Combat Information Center), looking at a computer screen for hours, while tracking contacts by radar. It was an important job, but as the newly arrived lowest-ranked member of the team, I was given the job of trekking to the waste room and taking all of the classified trash outside for disposal before I was allowed to bunk for the night.
So there I was. Whenever the storm would cause the ship to list to port, my legs were hanging in the air, while my body was being drenched by the waves of the cold North Atlantic Ocean. My process was to tie the ends of the trash bags to my wrist and hold them by the ends to ensure none of the bags dropped over the side before we had a chance to properly dispose of them.
I'd been trained to walk to the fantail at the end of the boat, slice holes in the bags first, then release them from my wrists and drop them overboard to be chewed up by the screws. Having done it countless times before, it was routine for me. We had to be careful with the trash in this way, as on one day when I was off, a guy threw the classified bags over the side of the ship (instead of the fantail) where they bobbed on the calm seas, and our ship had to turn around and spent hours searching for them. They actually had to send a boat out to slice holes in them (he'd forgotten), and ensure they sank beneath the waves.
Afterwards, the Captain made a stern announcement about the importance of properly disposing of classified material, and since they knew I was responsible and had a good work ethic, I was made the 7-days-a-week classified trash disposal guy. I took my job seriously, and did it well.
Over the edge and in the air
Since we knew the weather was bad, I'd asked the OS1 who ran the department if I could be excused for trash duty that night and do it the next day when the storm had passed, but he said no, that due to department policy, it was our responsibility and had to be done right now. So I walk up the ladder, open the hatch, and at that moment, the ship was tossed port, and the huge metal door swung open. I was tossed out onto the slippery deck and over (or through) the rails. It was pitch black out, with the crack of thunder and a mountain of towering waves crashing against the ship.
So I'm flying, and getting drenched with each wave, but it was worse than that. When she listed to starboard, I was violently slammed against the hull which knocked the wind out of me. With the roar of the storm, I knew that the only person who might be outside with me was the guy assigned to stand watch in the crows nest at the top of the ship. I done stints up there high above everything. So I screamed "HELP!" as loud as I could, but at that moment, no one could hear me scream.
Then I realized that when you stand watch up there, you're given a pair of sound-powered phones to wear. So he was either listening to music and chatting with his buddies with the headphones on, or more likely, no one was up there at all due to the weather.
Over and over I'm being slammed against the ship while hanging on with both hands. My right hand had a strong grip on the rail, but my left hand had the classified trash bags tied at the wrist, and I was holding on to them while trying to gain more purchase on the railing as well. The bags had not been sliced yet, but I was not about to be the one who lost the bags like the first guy and have to face the wrath of the ships Captain.
Again and again I hit the side. The weight of the water made my body heavier. Heart beating in my chest I kept screaming, to no avail. As the minutes went by, I was getting more and more tired. My hands were getting weaker. I thought: "Here I am 20-years-old, and if somebody doesn't hear me, I'm going to die." First time leaving America, and I haven't even made it to Spain and now this happens. But just when all seemed lost, there was a glimmer of hope.
See, we have these guards that patrol the ship. Ours was a nice guy from Tennessee, and I thought he might walk by soon. But he had a problem: he was addicted to PCP. Everyone knew about it, and it was an open secret. No one wanted to ruin his career by calling him out on it, but it resulted in bizarre behavior on his part, ans as I was thinking this, I heard what sounded like staggered footfalls in the pauses between the noise.
So I screamed, and the footsteps seemed to stop at the base of the ladder. Remember, the hatch door is swinging open when we list to port, then slamming shut when we list to starboard. Any guard worth his salt would see it and have to climb the ladder and close the door, but our guard was on drugs..
"Please help me!" I shouted. Over and over again I yelled, but unbelievably after stopping at the stairs for awhile, the steps continued away from the entrance and the clanging hatch. My one hope of rescue was walking away in a brain fog of drugs.
Now, if you know what the word "despondent" means, it was truly how I felt at that moment. My voice was getting hoarse from shouting as my hope slipped away. I thought of how my death would affect my family and the shock of them having no body to show in the casket. I knew my beloved grandmother would be devastated beyond belief.
A new hope
If you've ever watched that episode of Seinfeld where Jerry has an angel on one shoulder saying good things to him, and a devil saying bad things, that's what I went through. I was exhausted trying to hold on, as my left had slowly slipped off of the railing finger by finger. Now I was hanging on for dear life with just one hand...
The terror and fear consumed me, but at the heart of it I was just so tired. The angel spoke in my mind: "Hang on, you can make it." But the devil's thoughts were: "Just let go, and take a much-needed rest." Back and forth they argued in my mind as my arms slowly turned to rubber.
Some of you may laugh, but my knowledge of the Atlantic Ocean was limited back then. Maybe it was the tiredness, but for some reason, I thought the ocean was only 30 to 50 feet deep. If I listened to the demon and let go, I thought I could just sink to the bottom (which wasn't far in my mind) and just rest up for a minute or two before swimming up and cating the ship once again. That should tell you how weary I was.
I didn't consider the rough seas, and the deathly cold of the water, nor how in the world I would catch a navy destroyer peeling away from me in the dead of night. Like the passengers of the Titanic, I'd share the same fate as them. But you know what? In my darkest hour, hope came from a very familiar place...
It's a wonderful life
Each year, our family would watch three movies over and over again when they'd come on TV. the first was The Wizard of OZ, the second was the musical: Oklahoma!, But the third, and as beloved as the first was: It's a Wonderful Life, starring James Stewart, and that's the film that popped into my head.
In the film the protagonist gets to see what would have happened had he never existed. He learns how he’s touched the lives of others for the better, and the true value he brought to his community. That's what went through my mind. Who would visit and care for my beloved grandmother preyed on by parasitic family members out to fleece her of her very last dime? Who would mediate disagreements among family and friends while pointing out the silver lining in every cloud? I could go on and on, but I realized in that very moment just how much I meant to so many people. I was the connecting glue that kept so many relationships together, and the only source of comfort and solace to my blessed grandmother.
There was no way I was going to die in this cold dark ocean. There had to be a way to survive, and I was going to find it.
Dismissing the demon of comfort from my mind, the simplest thing began to occur to me. Like a freight train rumbling in the distance but getting closer, the answer slowly dawned on me. In our hour of need, sometimes we don't realize the answer is right in front of us.
No one was going to save me. I had to save myself, and I knew just how to do it.
It hit me that I could use the "rolling" of the ship to my advantage!
Note: I've used the term "pitch" but the correct term for what was happening to our ship was "roll" as you can see from the graphics below:
As it tilted from side to side, I could use the time I had after being slammed against the side to try and gain purchase with my legs. But I was fast running out of strength. So, boom! I hit the ship, and swing my waterlogged leg up and miss. Sucking in ragged breaths, I prepare to try again. We swing to port and I'm flying, then roll starboard getting the wind knocked out of me again, exerting myself, I swing one leg up, and the heel catches on the lip! But now we're rolling again, and guys, I'm telling you, I can only do this one more time as I have no arm strength left.
So holding on with one hand and one foot, I go flying out again (splitting my pants), gritting my teeth, I get ready for the slam and timing it perfectly, I manage to get both legs on the deck, and both hands on the railing! I laid there for a moment gathering my breath, and taking one last look at the angry sea, I grabbed the hatch door in time for the boat to pitch me headlong down the ladder.
Grabbing it and holding on for dear life I began to weep, because my mind was consumed by fear. You see even though I was inside the ship, my mind was playing tricks on me. Finally hearing the commotion, some sailors approached. Not really knowing who (or what) they were, I refused to believe my eyes and ears, simply saying "I almost fell overboard!" To me it was the devil tricking me again, as I thought these were specters and just a figment of my imagination. I thought I was still sitting on "the edge of the ship, and they were trying to trick me to stepping off the edge to my doom.
One reached out to grab me and sobbing I shouted "Don't touch me! You're not real!" Both of my arms were wrapped around that railing and I wasn't about to let go. At first they refused to believe I gone over the side, at that moment a little fish wriggle out of my shirt and plopped on the steps and I screamed in pure terror, and that's when they knew it was true.
Salvation and restoration
"He's in shock" one of them said, while the other went to get an officer. On our ship there were a number of cold-hearted people who will richly deserve their place in Hell. But among the bunch was an officer who was a true Christian. The kindest man you'll ever meet, and that's who came running when he's heard what happened. He seemed to quickly figure out that I thought I was afraid of leaving the ladder and stepping into the ocean. With the kindest and gentlest voice he slowly asked me to trust him.
"You know me, I wouldn't lie to you. You're inside the ship and you're safe. Take my hand." And I did. He slowly pried the reluctant fingers of my other hand off of the railing, one by one. I'm getting emotional even writing this, as I can picture it all over again. I was so exhausted that they had sailors basically lift me and carry me to my bunk, I was hysterical not knowing what was happening. As a new sailor, my bunk was at the top, but they moved OS2 Perry out of his prized middle bunk and strapped me in. They gave me an injection of something, and actually had a guy sitting next to me holding my arms and comforting me as I gripped the side of the bunk in fear until I passed out.
For three days they had somebody watching me, and they must have knocked me out with something because I don't remember much of that time. At the end of it I met with the Captain, and he apologized for making me take classified trash out in the dark The practice was now banned on the ship, and trash would now only be processed during daylight hours and in calm weather.
However, that incident changed me and made me realize the resilience I had within me. But for those herculean final efforts I wouldn't be here today. You have no idea how close I was to giving up. But a number of thing helped me get through that night, and I was able to go home and be a comfort to my grandmother in her remaining years.
If this account of that fateful night helps even one person going through a tough time to persevere, than the pain of reliving it will have been worth it. It was Winston Churchill who said: "If you're going through Hell, keep going." And that's exactly what we need to do during trying time in order to lead a 'wonderful life.' I wish you peace.
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There must have been a reason for you to survive this. What a story. Thanks for sharing it with us. Humans sure can have super powers.