I was raised in the military and was overseas much of my growing up years. My father was in the Army. He did not allow us to ever succumb to any kind of bias. Although he was prejudiced himself, he never surrendered to it. He told me once, and only once, that you always judge a man by the job he does, not what he looks like.

My dad only said things once, I screwed up one time and called a fellow a name at the dinner table. It took me a few minutes to pick myself up from the floor, he hit me with no warning and was busy shoveling dinner into his face when I got back. Nothing was said, but I never screwed up again. My dad was an SOB. If any of you ever get to talk to CDR Benson (first CO of Cochrane) ask him about my dad, he worked for him at SHAPE HQ in France. I am sure he remembers him as a prick.

We were living in Northern Virginia at the time, dad was stationed at the Pentagon. This was right before desegration hit there, anyone see the movie "Remember the Titans"? Well everyone knew that the blacks were coming in and were in a turmoil. There were demonstrations going on and some of my best friends were involved. I just stayed away from it all.

Anyway, I came to the Cochrane in sixty six. The Cochrane was running a tight crew, we drank together, ate together, went ashore together and most nights got into fights with other ships together. The main target was the Hassayampa, an oiler. It got so bad that the base commander asked our CO to have us take off our ship's patches on our shoulders (Good old T.I. "Boom boom" Kolstad). We did and many a fight was averted. Cochrane had that reputation.

The gold bullnose was part of it, we had one (Cochrane was three inches longer than the rest of the class, check the specs) and so did the McMorris, a DE. McMorris got rammed by the TomBigbee AOG-1 coming out of West Lock and killed a couple of fellows. Of course we considered the McMorris our little brother so we went and beat the crap out of every Tombigbee sailor we could find.

The point of all this is that the crew was tight and I got stories to tell about what went on. We did not have a racial problem on the ship. The black sailors mixed with everyone else, see I told you it was tight. After we got shot at in 68 we got even tighter. Well one day we get this new black OS (forgot what we called them back then besides scope dopes but they may have been radarmen RDs) and he came from a carrier, first class too.

He was always spouting off about racial stuff and black panthers and crap. Most of the crew tolerated him but not even the black fellows had much to do with him. I used to play whist with a black first class cook named Folkes. He was a great guy, much older than me. This guy comes up and wants to know why three black guys were playing whist with a pansy assed white kid like me. They just ignored him.

Some months later we were docked out at Ford Island, we were using a carriers boats to get back and forth, no bridge at the time. Ashman and me, we go to the EM club and get wasted. You know we could get four drinks for a dollar, I used to get four collins mixes at a time. So when it comes time for us to go back, we stagger down to the boat landing and get on the forty footer the CV is running.

The only other guys on the boat are four black guys from the CV and the rabble rouser from Cochrane. Now I told you before that Ashman was a small guy, about five four or so, me I am six two and I am uncomfortable cause these guys are throwing barbs at us, me and Ashman that is. Ashman is near passed out and I figure we can survive the boat ride by keeping out mouths shut. But then John wakes up and hears what is going on. He begins to mouth off to them.

Oh my, I just started saying my prayers to myself. Suddenly Ashman stands and all four of them jump up. There is nothing I can do but stand with me shipmate, ya' know. And take my beating, at least they weren't getting any virgins.

Then this fellow gets up, he was not large but he was well built with a kind of menacing intelligence in his face. I figure now we got five against two, even worse. But the fellow goes over to the other four and tells them to leave his shipmates alone!! Damn, I think. I grab Ashman and wrestle him to the seat and cover his stupid mouth.

The four turn on our new found buddy, at least at the moment he was my buddy. The guy has a kinfe out and in front of him so fast, I never saw anything move. So now I am back up behind this guy, I figure if I was ready to take a beating for Ashman, I can take one for this fellow too, but the four take a look around and sit back down. The rest of the boat ride was quiet, real quiet except Ashman now snoring. Hell I bet he does not even remember what has happened.

See, point is that the Cochrane was tight, real tight. That guy changed, changed a lot. Didn't make no mind what you looked like, just how you did your job, we respected each other that way. Well the story gets around about this guy and soon we don't hear any more of that racial stuff, he is one of us. Hell he is the first black guy I ever disliked for his color but respected for his abilty to change, and respected him as a man for what he was, he was a good egg afterall. The Cochrane did things like that to you, you had to be effected. The lessons I learned on the Cochrane are still with me today.

Tell you what, it was years before I would help build the USS South Carolina CGN-37. She was the same way, but do you know why? It was cause the PCO was Captain Neel, sound familiar? He was a skipper of the Cochrane too.

See he was tight with his crew, real tight.



Wierd Frank, aka Shaggy Wierdo, Fox Div, 66-68