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In Dire Straits of Gibraltar
USS F. D. Roosevelt (CVA-41) moving at "All Ahead Flank."
When Navy friends and ship mates get together to relax, invariably the
topic gets around to "sea stories." All of us who have served in
the Navy have acquired such stories--funny, surprising, comical,
humorous, tragic, poignant--and memorable, always
memorable. Sea Stories are as varied as the person reliving
them--interesting, exciting, provocative, stimulating, appealing,
heartwarming, lively and entertaining--worth telling to a larger
audience, sharing with others some unforgettable experiences and
preserving precious memories for future generations.
Qualifying as an Officer of the Deck Underway--OOD u/w--often took
junior surface officers years to accomplish. The Officer of the
Deck is that officer on watch in charge of the maneuvering and daily
routine of the ship. Next to the Captain and the Executive
Officer--XO—he or she is in command of the ship during the period of
their watch. Earning qualification as an OOD underway was, and
is, the most sought after achievement for a junior Surface Warfare
Officer.
In the early 1960's, qualifying as an OOD underway required that the JO
first prove himself as a Boat Officer and then as an OOD Inport.
Only then, and after many months of standing watches on the bridge
under the steely eyes of the Captain, could the JO hope that one day he
might receive a letter from the CO announcing that he had fulfilled the
requirements. Only the Captain could sign the letter, when he and
the Navigator agreed that you were ready.
The young officer who designed this cover for the Roosevelt's OOD
Training Manual in 1963 clearly had a whimsical sense of humor. The
cartoon Lt. Junior Grade is holding a security blanket in his lap as he
stares at a windup toy model of an aircraft carrier with the number
"42" painted on the side. The fact that the Commanding Officer did not
veto the cover design also says a lot. The manual represented the first
compilation into one publication of all the various requirements and
tests needed to be completed before a young line officer could be
issued a letter of qualification as an Officer of the Deck Underway. It
is believed to be the first such publication and a model for later
Professional Qualification Standards (PQS) put into place within the
Navy's Surface Warfare Community.
Many hopeful JO’s stood watches as the Junior Officer of the Deck for
months, and never received the coveted letter of qualification.
Those who did had been aboard the ship for several years and had been
promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade from their starting rank of Ensign.
In April, 1963 I earned my letter of OOD u/w qualification while
still an Ensign. I was shocked when Captain Walter Clarke signed
it one beautiful spring day while we were steaming back to CONUS from
over nine months of deployment in the Mediterranean. Since we
were in the middle of a beard growing contest (to help liven the boring
two week transit of the Atlantic) I scratched my blond, itchy stubble
in wonderment.
Officer of the Deck Qualification Letter
I was shocked, then ecstatic. Here I was still an Ensign, and I
was one of only seven or eight JOs on the ship with a qualification
letter. My place in the Wardroom was secure. I don't
remember if I swaggered, but I must have.
The Captain told me that I was the most junior officer he had ever
qualified as an OOD underway. Of course, I took the honor, and it
was mostly that, very seriously. In fact, when I had the "deck
and the conn" it was the most totally focused, single-minded thing I
ever did. I took great pride in training my watch team, running
them through innumerable drills, preparing us for the time when a plane
in the water, or a man overboard would not be a drill but the real
thing. We dreaded the thought, but we knew the day would
come.
Following an all too brief period at home and in the Brookland Naval
Shipyard for repairs, some months later we were again transiting the
Atlantic—in the opposite direction. We planned our passage
through the Straits of Gibraltar to
ensure that we went through at high speed at midnight. The new
CO, Captain Gerry Miller had asked that I be assigned the Mid
Watch. I would take us through the straits and into the Med.
It was standard procedure for us to relieve the watch starting 15
minutes prior to the hour. It was also SOP for the watch team to
go through the Combat Information Center for a briefing on the surface
picture prior to the watch. This time, I was the CIC Watch
Officer for the watch preceding.
In the hours prior to my bridge watch, I had watched the blips on my
radar repeater grow in density as we neared the straits. Ships
from all over the world were feeding into this "choke point," coming
and going through the narrow passage at speeds ranging from a few knots
to an average of 12 to 15 knots.
As was standard practice dictated, we were doing 25 knots. Not
only were we overtaking the ships steaming east into the Med, but our
closure rate on those ships steaming west out of the Med was between 30
and 45 knots. It was no time for a mistake. Large ships do
not maneuver easily. Aircraft carriers are even worse.
At 15 knots when I ordered the "helm" over 15 degrees to start a turn,
it would take nearly half a minute for the compass to click over just
one degree. "Ship drivers" had to think and act way ahead of
where they were.
When my relief arrived in CIC to take over as the CIC Watch Officer,
I briefed him, then headed up the seven flights of "ladders" (steep
stairs) towards the bridge. For a few minutes, I stood in the
enclosed, armored bridge area directly behind the conning bridge as I
adjusted to the feel of the bridge and listened to the soft
conversation of the watch team dealing with the heavy ship traffic all
around us.
I watched, fascinated as always, as the Seaman plotted surface contact
information, writing backwards on the surface status board in white
grease pencil where the watch team could see it.
The board was full of contacts--"G," "H," "I," and so on through the
alphabet--their X's linked together to form ghostly trails on the
board, silently snaking past the center of the board. Us!
Finally, I read the Captain's Night Order Book entry for this
evening. The usual text. He was asleep in his Sea Cabin,
dead tired after overseeing air operations all day long. Call him
if anything usual happened, if I had to maneuver the ship more than a
few degrees off base course, and of course, if some other ship was a
threat to us.
Even though I had watched the blips on the radar scope for hours,
seeing the actual running lights and stern lights of the real ships
brought home the risk and danger. Lights were all around
us.
White stern lights of the ships we were overtaking would slowly grow
stronger, then pass down the port or starboard side at less than a
mile, not much room for a ship. The masthead and red port running
lights of the ships leaving the Med seemed to be racing down the port
side several miles away.
When my eyes were night adjusted and I felt I had the situation in
mind, I stepped out onto the bridge to greet and salute the OOD I was
relieving. He was one happy camper. A hot cup of coffee and
a sweet roll were waiting for him in the Wardroom. A few minutes
later and he would be sleeping soundly while I dodged and weaved the
ship through the Straits and into open waters. His stress level
was dropping like a rock. Mine was going in the opposite
direction.
Inport in Istanbul, Turkey aboard the USS F. D. Roosevelt (CVA-42).
I had never taken the ship through the Straits before as the OOD.
Now I was expected to do so while the rest of the ship—including the
Captain—was fast asleep.
The OOD briefed me quickly on the situation. No surprises,
just ships, lots of them. When the brief was over, I gave the
required salute and uttered the words which gave me legal authority—and
personal accountability—for the rest of my watch: "I relieve you, Sir."
"I stand relieved," he replied and announced that "LTJG Connors, has
the deck and the conn." The Quartermaster duly noted the fact in
the log. The ship was mine and he handed me the "badge of
authority," a pair of binoculars which I quickly adjusted to my
eyesight.
He left immediately to prepare his log entries.
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