PB19 Crazy Charlie Part 1

He was the new Weapons Officer on Ike (USS Dwight D. Eisenhower CVN-69). Charlie seemed like an ok guy. Ships, even big ships, are small communities at sea and new arrivals are scrutinized like new people in a small town. We are anxious to determine if they will “fit in”. A naval aviator, Charlie seemed like a regular guy, and one that did not seem to harbor any unusual animus towards supply officers (like me).

But soon there were some unsettling incidents. First of all my car pool buddy, Fergie, who worked for Charlie, received a less than optimal fitness report, effectively ending Fergie’s chance at promotion and continuation in the service. Now I have to admit, Fergie was someone who didn’t exactly “fit in” but I knew him to be an exceptionally fine person, unusually concerned about the welfare of his sailors. I decided to speak to Charlie about it. It was not a positive experience. Charlie told me that Fergie was “too weak” to be a Naval Officer and while admittedly a “fine person”, did not belong in the Navy. That seemed a harsh judgment to me especially for a guy who had been on board only a couple of months. Charlie then abruptly left me standing in his office.

Then there was the security force, a responsibility of the Weapons Officer. Prior to Charlie’s arrival, the security force had been a small group of sailors (around 20). They were designated to address any attempt to take over the ship by terrorists when called away by the ship’s public address system (known as the 1MC in the Navy). In the sleepy 80s, no one was much concerned about terrorism, until Charlie came aboard, that is. He increased the security force to over 200 sailors and Marines, issued them fully loaded weapons, and drilled them relentlessly.
When a ship is in port, once the working day is over, most of the crew return to their homes like normal commuters (unless they have the “duty”.) One afternoon, having worked a little later than usual, I decided to leave the ship for home while a security drill was underway. Big mistake. As I walked through the door to the mess area, a huge sailor, bulked up with a flak jacket, and holding a sawed off 12 gauge shotgun, ordered me to lie on the deck. “I am an officer, Son”, I sputtered. “On the deck, Sir, NOW”, he responded. Not wanting to get shot on my own mess deck, I complied. When the 1MC announced that the drill was over, the sailor helped me up. “Sorry Sir, but Commander Walton requires us to treat every drill as the real thing.” “No problem, Petty Officer”, says I with a grimace, dusting myself off. “I will speak to him in the morning”.

“What the hell are you trying to do?” I shouted at Charlie in his office early the next morning. “Your getting those kids all fired up and handing them loaded shotguns? And automatic rifles? And 9 mm pistols? Someone is going to get killed playing your stupid games.” “Now calm down, Chop (the universal nickname for supply officers.) I know that you and the rest of the officers think I’m nuts. I know that the other ships in port know what’s going on here and that they call me Crazy Charlie. I know that you think that this is some sort of stupid game. But I don’t think so and neither does the captain. Every one on the naval base is talking about how excessive Ike’s security drills are and how it is ludicrous that we use so many loaded weapons. But look at it this way. If there ARE terrorists contemplating an attack on a Navy warship, and I believe there are, do you think they are going to hit Ike?” With that, Charlie got up and left his office.
As it turned out, I would soon have an opportunity to see Charlie’s security force in action for real. That will be the subject of a future column. But the point is, Charlie Walton (not his real name) was ahead of his time. You know I’m right.