If only I hadn’t believed my friend, Chuck, when he broached the subject of climbing down that roof drain pipe. We were recently led around in handcuffs for buying something legal. Confessing to the purchases and the investigators searched, but there was nothing to be found on us or in our lockers on board the ship. Already two years sea duty. Salty they say. The story behind it all is as follows:

It was the Six Day War between Israel and and the Arab nation. A proxy war between us and Russia. Israel had our weapons and F14’s and Egypt had Russian Migs.and communist support I was in Top Secret communications and we had just been ordered to do 24 hour watches with 12 hours off to recover.

It was ‘somewhat’ dreary and very hard to do. my best friend, Chuck, a signalman, opened his hand to me one day and showed me something he called a ‘pep pill’ “you can buy them at the pharmacy in port” “he said” Sounded OK and they worked. Methadrine, stronger than espresso but with somewhat unpleasant side effects.

They got by, but Chuck developed a fondness for the little white pills. He sort of ‘hid’ on board when he would get hallucinations and paranoid. I didn’t have a clue. Someone in the division turned them in and that’s where the handcuffs showed up. The CID came after them at an apartment they rented in Naples. We were placed under arrest and wound up in the Marine Brig on land and Chuck said a fellow ship-mate was coming after them with a knife that night because we had fingered him as the major pot distributor on board their ship. Chuck said he had fought him off. Chuck was a tough guy back in the day.

It was not like the movies with a one way glass, the guards just escorted us down a passageway and “Is that him?” as the entrepreneur stood about 12 feet away. Brilliant. They locked all three of us up on shore and in a common bull pen. Also not well thought out. Maybe that dealer did come for me at night with the knife? Chuck told me that. It was a long time ago. They did not lock up the pharmacist. As mentioned, meth was legal over-the-counter just down the street from our apartment. . Chuck just wanted out so he could visit the pharmacy in our old Naples neighborhood. He was very fond of the little white pills. Addiction.

We had the duty of cleaning the brig when we spotted the big drain pipe going down to the courtyard. About three stories below. A open window offered freedom and a few days later, we were gone and in Sicily by the time it was noticed. We spent a lot of time on the run and wound up in Rome. We lived with some street people who crashed in a dirt floor catacomb near Trevi Fountain. All of us were begging for 100 Lire coins from tourists in Italian ( Cento Lire per mangare) and snagging coins thrown from the economy tour buses. You could hear the aluminum windows on the bus’s snap open as the tourists tried to fling the coins into the ‘Three coins in the Fountain‘. Those cheaper tour bus tours did not stop at any of the sights and we knew which ones they were.

The 500 lire ones were heavier and worth about 5 bucks! Wetting your feet in the fountain was a sure arrest for us, but the coin toss was amusing to the policemen. Entertaining to a boring assignment. The cops tolerated the street people. Some of them were old enough to remember WWII, they knew how hard it could be.

I visited the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel when we were in Rome. (Chuck was mostly in a drug haze near the fountain) The Swiss guards just let me in. Maybe seeing me as the street urchin I now appeared as. Dirty and unkempt. Perhaps I was looking for redemption? After the astounding ceiling of the chapel with the finger of God reaching for the finger of Adam, I walked the halls and saw the incredible original paintings of the masters. I did not run into the Pope however. I just walked out the gates afterwards.

I found Chuck that evening, walking aimlessly near the fountain. He was easy to spot with his white tennis shoes. Finally looking a bit worse for wear, we wound up in Florence. Camping at Campagio David with a perfect replica of DaVinci’s statue of King David over the entrance! The cops came for us in the morning where we were camped and we wound up in handcuffs. Foolish sailors, using their military ID”s. Wanted men. Captured, this time in a car headed for Pisa and another jail. Just like the bad movies as we were very uncomfortable riding across Italy with hands cuffed behind us. A long drive and little chit chat from the guards. They had no idea why we were wanted after all.

As we approached our new residence, we leaned over a bit with the cuffs at our backs and saw the leaning tower out the window. “Wow, it really does lean a lot!” More unpleasant accommodations and finally the court Marshal. Sentenced to six months hard labor in a Marine Brig in southern Spain, Rota. It is what is called a ‘red line brig’ with guards ready and able with 45 caliber sidearms if you crossed that line.

We got tortured with sleep deprivation for three days and were allowed to join the bull pen after it: “Strip your bunk! Make your bunk! Go to sleep!” 1 hour intervals, repeat until you plead. It works. It breaks people down very efficiently. A little splash of water in your face to instill yet another round. (I still have dreams about that.) A recent sleep study could not be done as I knew someone would wake me up and the torture would begin again. Trauma hiding within my mind. It lingered for a ‘while’. Jesus helped me with that issue recently. He is so kind and of course, He was there the whole time. Always is for us. It took me a long time to realize that as well. Finally after being broken at the brig we were allowed into general population.

‘Fun loving Marines’ , bad duty for them with a few moments of entertainment now and then. After three months working hard in the heat, the biggest guard asked me if I would like to ‘dance’ with him in the isolation cell. What did I have to loose? A bit stronger from months of work shoveling sand blast sand from beneath dry docked barges, I said,“sure, might be a good time” ‘Ahh, you’re no fun’ the guard said and he went back to whatever it is that guards do.

Finally our time was up, I was discharged with an Honorable discharge (after a few years of legal action) and we were flown back to the states on a very uncomfortable C-130. What a career, and I was doing so well. A few more crows on my sleeve up to first class and it would be a path to Chief petty officer, the brown shoe Navy with better accommodations on board ship, retirement too. A career sought after, now gone. Why? Don’t we always ask that question..why me? To be continued…