barracks D

The other day I was visiting some friends who had recently married. They had requested I bring my portfolio of drawings as the wife is an artist too-they both were interested in seeing my work. As she was going through the drawings she came to one page that made her pause for a legnth of time and she looked up at me and said ” I know exactly what this is about”.The drawing she refered to was an image of me-my head only-standing in a room full of snakes and for heads each snake had a hand and in the fingers of each hand was a fang-a poisonous fang. Around the room you can see boxes with men laying in them and above the room you can see eyes peering over the ledge. One of the snakes is coiled around my neck. My friends new wife confided she to had been confined during a DUI arrest-and had been raped…she knew nothing about what happened to me in barracks D.

By the time we reached the barracks I had to pee very badly. I had’nt gone since we left my parents earlier that morning and it was nearing late night. At the barracks I was taken to a room with a half door where a man was stationed to hand out bedding and give me a stack of shirts that had SID stenciled on the backs…sailor in detention. The room was stacked with mattresses and denim shirts in piles and hanging on the walls. Part of the room the wall had a huge hole in it and you could see through to the other room-but it looked like a crashed through hole and not an intended demolition. This man was an older man-perhaps in his forties,balding and stocky…and the first effeminant men I ever saw-he looked male but acted very sissy like. He welcomed me…saying “welcome to barracks D ….drugs,drunks and degenerates ” And I was led to an expanded metal gate that led to the place I have never forgotten since.

Something has been happening during the writing of these memories and after some work….I loose them , so-shorter instalments from now on.

from the Vulcan to Barracks D

A persons life can change overnight. Good for bad,bad for worse. Mine did. Overnight.

By the time the Vulcan returned from our cruise it was nearing the holidays and the ship was divided into three groups-those who went home Thanksgiving,and those who did Christmas and mine-we got the new years weekend. I never much cared for Christmas anyway so it did’nt make that much difference-but it was the first holiday away from home and that was kind of hard. My grandparents lived in DC…so I missed seeing my grandmother during the holidays for the first time. You can understand. We used to go down to Woodward and Lothrops and look at the animated Christmas windows-filled the whole block,the store-and each window was a mechanical scene of Santa’s workshop and another of the elves and another of something else…and this was the first time not doing that. So I was homesick in that way.

On our pier was this spot where a greyhound bus stopped which was a regular liberty bus to Washington and back-of course,the Viet Nam war was going strong and I suppose Nixon or somebody wanted the people to see uniformed men in the city-so this bus was a regular round trip scheduled well enough that there was a card you could keep up with if you could go up there to DC at night during liberty and get back for roll call and a days work-albeit,hungover…but it was done. It had its risks,but an obersvant person could see if I guy was late returning he would get a days restriction on board ship and not much more,so the risk was’nt too costly and many guys took that restriction smoking cigeretes and reading-lots to do when you can’t do anything,so it did’nt look too bad to chance being late.

So I figured it out on that card I could catch this bus at 8 p.m. and get to the city and go to my familys house and surprise them and turn around and get back to the ship on time and be there to say ‘hey’ and turn around and get on the bus that morning and get back up to DC and spend my weekend…after all,my job in the galley gave me every night off-so my plan seemed like it would work. That would give me that Friday night to get there and back, and then the next three days to spend at home-and then the late bus back. Good plan.

So thats what I did. Got off work at 7 o’clock pm and got ready and there was the bus-got on and soon after right on schedule we left for DC. It was raining-windy , and really really cold. Along the route where the highway turned into interstate was the old truck stop Speed and Briscoe-and the bus always made a regular snack stop there -by the time we reached there it was snowing…by the time we reached DC it was nearly 4 am-we were the last bus in,and none were going to be running for a very long time. We experienced the worst blizzard- it was record…I was never going to get back to the ship.

I was still in boot mode-having been assigned to the Vulcan arount the second week of October 1969…so I was scared. We had been told if we ever got in to a problem while traveling to report to the military liason offices at our points of travel-there was one in the bus station,and there I went-thinking I was going to get yelled at like in boot camp.But the guys there-soldiers , or airmen-I can’t recall , were just regular guys about it and looked up the telephone number to contact the Vulcan and told them the situation and since I had a pass for the week end the no problem was given and the liason said to enjoy my new years.

Well…there was no where to go. The bus station bar was open-I guess because there was nothing else to do , I went in and sat and met this older man-Eddie Lachman from Holland -Duecthland and he introduced himself as a newspaper correspondent that worked in the White House . I believe he was – he was very nice , and he drove a VW beetle and he drove me all the way to my parents house in that little car…I got there just before daylight.

Its not hard to validate that this storm was as I say-it was dubbed a blizzard and any weather record shows it was. Everything was at a stand still. I was so grateful for Eddie Lachman driving me home and once inside I fell into bed. I think my brother called and talked to our father that Saturday…but I’m not really sure about that. But the next morning my brother and his wife showed up and he had been sent by the ship to arrest me for being AWOL and there were drug charges made against me.

I remember we drove away from my parents house and up the street from there was a cul-de-sac and we turned in there and my brother handcuffed me…and we drove away-going the back way to Norfolk. I remember by the time we got back to the ship it was dark -I think about 6 o’clock pm and when we drove up to the pier Frank stopped and took off the hand cuffs-and up the gangplank we went.

Where the enlisted men board a ship is near the center and the is a special deck where one enters the ship-its the quarter masters deck…a very specially kept area. Its a busy area-lots of foot traffic-guys going by. Its the main street of the ship. Off toone side is a section of rooms called the master-at arms shack,more less the police department on ship. I was taken there. It was like a doorway that led into an office and there was a second doorway that led into the other office…they took me in there-there was a chair readied and set in the center of that door way-and I was made to sit there. And a long time went by when eventually they brought a group of guys and lined them up and one by one they walked by the door way direct from the quarter masters deck and they looked in at me-one by one. There was only one guy that I recognized in that group – a guy named Billie that worked in the galley and was a really nosey guy-always coming into some ones conversation and wanting to know what every one was talking about….like the day we sailed from Cuba to Jamacia and some of the guys were talking about marijuana…but in a conversation of peers and of discussion , not of any talk to get some of it…and Billie had popped into that conversation not knowing-nor did it make a difference-and heard some of what we were saying.

So the group of guys go by and are sent on thier way , and I am to remain in my seat . I had to pee miserably , but was’nt permitted to go any where…just sit.

An hour or so later my brother and another guy come in and my brother grabs me out of the chair and into a second chair by the desk in the front office and the other sailor-one of the master at arms-had this paper and it was then I was told I was suspected of bring drugs onto the ship-or some kind of major thing like that-it had to do with marijuana and I was indentified by witnesses…aka Billie the nosey one. They told me I had two choices-one , to sign and admit the charges and face possabile court marshall-and probable prison or I could deny it and there fore the naval intelligence office would investigate…and if I lied-it could be real bad for me. All I could think about was the time I marched around the US Capital during the poor peoples march…and , that piece of paper someone put on my tongue that had LSD on it and that the FBI would be able to find that out ( how??) and if they could than the NIA could…and I was so scared then by my brother yelling and this other guy yelling and not knowing what to do…I admitted it. I had done nothing wrong…but I admitted I did.

So I think I was told to sit in that chair again-I do remember the whole time I was there a TV set was on and I could hear Andy of Mayberry and Our Miss Brooks on the set , but could not see the screen. And God…did I have to pee.

Eventually a they took me down the gangplank to a waiting van and the master at arms guy put some handcuffs on me and sat me inside and drove me to barracks D at the Naval Station in Norfolk. Barracks D is where I learned your life can change overnight.

from boot camp to the USS Vulcan

The first days of boot camp were knid of like Christmas. You knew it was coming but you did’nt know what to expect. Every body was yelled into formation and we always looked so beautiful as we marched in company to each part of our traing…the feet all going in unison-the harmony of the feet and the recruit petty officer in charge (rpoc) holloring our cadence , numbers one thru four-but not like we spoke them in school. Kind of a blend-upp…ooo…ree…fup,upp…ooo…ree…fup,over and over.

Our first rpoc lasted part of a day and it was learned that his daddy or someone was in congress or something and they wisked him off to be the Camp Moffitt champion recruit,so the guy the put into his place…Potts,can always remember that name-he took over and his first day he tried to catch up and over do the upp…ooo…ree…fup…so much that the following day he was hoarse and could’nt make a peep. So his junior had to fill in until he got his voice back.

Like I said-the place was like Christmas because you saw all these areas that were fenced in or open fields…and there were obsticle coarses and then some where else would be airplane hulks-or a section of a mock ship…buildings called indoor grinders where troops and troops of men could march indoors and do anything in them. And we’d march by these places and see the recruits in them training-but be clueless as to why they were there and we had not yet been…but then later in the days or weeks we’d end up there all in the process of time,it was all perfectly orchistrated,and always a neat surprise.

I loved it. The minute my Drill Instructor-DI,came screaming in my face that first morning I knew it was over and there never any more complaining about my parents-they werent here,and who ever this guy was…he had my attention right then. I know I promised myself I’d do whatever he said before my feet ever hit the ground.

I had cheated,I had a bit of preperation the night before I went to camp Hollibird-the movie with Jack Webb as a marine Drill Instructor-The DI played-just as if it was meant to be so as if planned by a higher scource,so I saw the probability of what to expect,but this was far more magnified. I remember after I got out of boot I went-in uniform,of course-to the marine recruiter that jammed his finger in my chest -knocking wind out of me-and I thanked him for talking me into going in the Navy because if the real marine boot camp was stiffer and meaner than Jack Webb played it,than I was a most lucky guy.

Our boot experience-our company 407 and our sister company-was really a good experience that got better the fifth week into the program. The rpoc’s sort of had things a little easier and got to hang out in the DI’s office and got top smoke more often,more soda’s-they cheesed is what it was. Well,it went to thier heads a bit as you can expect. One day we went to what they called damage control. We learned what the airplane hulks and ship mock up was for and had to go into the ship section with it filled with smoke and then later we went into a tear gas chamber. The two companies always went to training together…160 or so men-I can’t recall,but if we went-they went. So wee were all lined up in formation and the DI’s that were in charge of the gas tank were walking around us yelling-every body yelled-and they were instructing us how to put on the gas masks…then,one of them goes up to the rpoc’s and he’s holding these two pellets the size of a moth ball and he’s yelling-everybody yelled- at the two rpoc’s about these pellets all the while holding them up in the air so everybody could see them,but he’s talking-yelling-at the rpoc’s….and as he says “I want you to take this pellet…” he hands them to each of the rpoc’s and our sister companies guy must of thought since he was an rpoc it was going to make him immune to the gas…so he swallowed the pellet like it was a pill. The DI’s had a fit and really freaked out on the guy trying to save his life,one of them was just loosing it…thier hearts as men came out…and thier real compassion-and we saw it,and they saw us see it…and then it just seemed boot camp took a different level because they knew we now knew that they were’nt all bad ass….they were feeling people like us. I dont know what happened to the guy,they never told us that I recall.

In the final weeks of boot camp you end up seeing the people that are giving you the duty stations you go to after training. The question was asked if I had any friends or kin folk I’d like to do buddy time with-and since my older brother Frank was on the USS Vulcan I asked if I could do that…and off to the Vulcan I was sent.

The last days of boots you get to go through this place and buy a ring like a graduation ring-I got one of those,but later lost in in Jamacia…and we also bought these ‘grips’ all black and there were these lettering artists that would monogram your ships name on them with some kind of marker -all for a fee,of course. So-mine was the sharpest…the USS VULCAN AR-5.

The Vulcan was a neat ship. She was a repair ship-carryed a foundry and a cabinet and wood working shop-metal shop,welding-gauge repair…you had it broke out at sea…the Vulcan put it back together for you. My first sight of her at the pier in Norfolk was the most awesome view my eyes had ever seen…I was 18 years old of one happy kid-I was going to live on that ship.

That turned around pretty quick. My brother was not not too pleased with my plans and instantly made my life on ship miserable. He ran the laundery-and there he took all of my work shirts and had LIL’HERRON over the shirt pocket as regulated,so every body called me Lilly,or Lil..and he cut the sleeves-ruining my shirts,and making it so I was restricted to only certain parts of the ship-because of improper uniforms. One of the first things a recruit-now seaman apprentice-does when he boards ship is to tour around and learn your areas and meet the doctors and dentists and shown where the post office and the barber and gee-dunk was located. Another thing is the tests-and I did so good that the education officer was going to get me through the G.E.D. test and told me I could qualify for a certain program that would send me to college…it was all to unbelievable,and news I wanted to share with Frank. He was so non-supportive beat down everything about it-and me. I really wish I knew that he was going to be like that-but,it was sealed in fate by then…it can never be turned around. I will always remember that mistake.

People have a hard time believing all the things in the Bible can be true-Caine and Abel? And look at Joseph, the boy with the coat of many colors who dreamed dreams-and was loved the most by his father-and hated by his brothers…they sold him into slavery , and told father he had been killed. It seems my story-with my brother proves these ancient Bible stories are’nt so out of range after all. My brother Frank became my own personal navy boss-all was reported to him by his pal’s and my punishments were full face socks with his fist and easier tasks like shining his locker ’til I can see the pimples on my ass ‘ -he’d say. All this took place in the laundry…way in the depths of the ship where no one else was. He even went as far as to work it out to where I had to work for him down there…it was miserable but the cooks complained because I was supposed to serve as a mess cook first and foremost upon joining the crew, so being sent to the galley was an improvement…but I still had to go below and do for Frank after hours.

We went to sea and that lightened things up some,but not always-but by this time I learned I could rack anywhere on the boat I wanted to-so I found these empty racks near the rear of the ship and moved there to hide from Frank.

We shipped to Cuba-hard to guess where,and for a break we went to Montego Bay Jamacia for a weekend…my only cruises ever on the Vulcan-because my life was fixing to change for ever.

…and I will have to write some more later.

joining the Navy

I enlisted in the United States Navy in April 1969. I was still 17 and was enlisted in a reserve program until I reached 18-turned 18 and about two weeks later I was standing in a huge auditorium in Camp Hollibird in Baltimore-there were thousands of guys there going into the marines and the army and the navy. I’ve often wondered how many of them did not return home except in a casket?

I was glad this was happening. It was a fresh start and I knew that in the service we would all be equal-to a degree,seeing the officers and the enlisted men would all know thier places-there would be no status as who shopped where or who has what style of clothes-every one knew thier place. And the opportunity would be wonderful-to be on a ship and to see foriegn lands. It did not matter to me there was the war-that was what it was all about-defending your country and flag and the Constitution,which one of my ancesters signed . John Witherspoon …so this was going to be a new life and I would bust my butt and show my family there was’nt any thing wrong with me…that I was good.

I saw the Viet Nam war from a different angle-from the kitchen table on the portable TV set. Every evening watching the days slain be shown on the screen to pay respects to them. They all looked like me in thier high school senior photos,young and with big ears and the various shapes and sizes of thier faces,all of them looked like me.

So, going to boot camp was a trip of deep thought about would my life be taken in the war and is this it? We almost did’nt make it to boot camp because one of the recruits in our group made a stupid joke about hijacking the plane to Great Lakes and he almost got us all ejected fromthe plane for that remark….the first Cuba hijacking had just taken place and was fresh on everyones minds , the stewardess did not see his joke as funny.

We got there at around 0200,and got our bunks-only to be in them for about an hour when the screaming DI and his crew came in screaming thier heads off-scareing the life out of us…and getting us up for our first morning of boot camp.

The rest another day.

Life before the Navy

My life as a kid was usual in most ways-but there were several incidents that made my boy hood different than what others might have experienced; but yet-I have seen with my own eyes the lives of others that make me feel guilty that my life has troubled me so.

I lived from age 5 to 13 in the hills of West Virginia just out side of the capitol city,Charleston. Our house as all the houses on our part of the street was built on a hillside that might as well have been a cliff-the front door opened to a brief terrace that led to a flight of twenty stairs that led up to the street The back windows looked out on a view that was up from the foundation about 3 stories but the cliff made it seem like 10 stories.

It was an era of freedom for kids my age then in the 1950’s. Television was rare,most homes had none-we did…but it only came on a few hours in the morning and then a few hours at night. People were’nt worried about kids at the age of 7-8 going out to play hop scotch in the street because society had not shown a threat to kids then as there is now.

I was a normal kid-thought Santa was cheat,and hated halloween costumes-but loved the rewards we got for getting dressed up that way. I wanted to play little league but that never happened,so wiffle ball was the trade off.

But then there was the night my sister JoEileen died. She was 11-I was about 7. A man came in a dark station wagon and he went to her room and carried her out wrapped in a blanket into the darkness and up those steps to his station wagon. The next time I saw her was while standing on a stool looking down into her casket.

About a year later my friend and I wer4e playing in the woods beside our neighbors-Mr.Hoke- house. We saw Mr.Hoke come around the side of the house and go into his cellar and he was carrying a gun. Well we were curious about the gun and so we followed him into the cellar to see if we could get a look at it…but as we entered the door he had put the gun into his mouth and ended his life right there in front of us. He never knew we were there…nobody ever knew we were there, we ran to our houses and kept our mouths shut.

The last time I saw Mr.Hoke was standing on that same stool looking down into his casket. Looking at him that day and seeing his head put back together made me so curious that I later became a mortician to learn how they had done that-put him back together.

It was kind of a strange phenom of that time…morticians held what I called back yard viewings (back in the fifties) and my friend and I saw more dead people by the time we were twelve by the courtesy of these viewings. Another old man on our street gassedhisself …and the morticians uncovered his blue body right there so we could see him. And old Bennie up the street died and sure enough-the morticians had him uncovered in the yard so we could get a gander at his blue body. So the picture here is bunches of deaths but no one ever thought what it might be doing to our minds-we were just little boys.

One day the Allied van showed up and we moved to Henrico County Virginia. I hated that move. I was being seperated from everything I knew-my street and school and friends. The mountains and the view from the back window. And Karen…the girl that had become my first girl friend….so the move was not what I had planned.

Theres alot of details I am skipping over in this because I am trying to lead up to my days in the Navy because my intent in these blogs is to tell the story of a mans life as a rape and sexual assault victim-to try to give an idea that this does exist but because it is so sensitive,it is hardly reported…there fore not much awareness exists.

There was some incidents at my new school that seperated me from most all of the student body-there was an issue of how I dressed for my first day of gym and the coach made such a deal about it that all the other kids saw it as an open door to tease me over and over til I quit paying attention to school and began planning a way to get out of there.I did run away once-but that was a short journey of around a week…so one day I took some eggs on the school bus and at an intersection I threw them at a car and caused a car wreck.

Later that morning in school the PA system came on and all the students on that bus were called to the cafeteria where the bus driver and the automobile driver and the police and the school officialsalll were waiting to hand out pencils and a index card to each student to write down the name of the oerson responsable . Those cards were never filled out-there was a girl named Debbie that said she did’nt need to fill one out and she pointed at me and said ‘ it was him…’ and thus my school days were over as I was expelled and sent to a judge who ordered me to work for some building contractor for the mere pay of 15 dollars a week which was turned over to pay the damages of the mans car.

The following year the Allied truck showed up and we moved to the suburbs of Washington DC. Now this was a move that I liked. Our grand parents lived in the DC city limits and all of my summers as a boy were spent there partly,and divided in half-the other half being with my grand parents inPottstown Pennsylvania. But the move also pleased me because I could start over-new school,new friends…

The first day of school at Robert E.Peary High School was going to be the best. It was a huge school with two tracks and a full size football field-it had a bag pipe band and asizeable display of the explorer Peary’s sled and other memorablia that he took to the midnight sun. The school had a theatre program-and an auto shop…it was a great place. But then when we were leaving our home room class where we learned of all the great opportunities that Peary High offered and we were walking down the hall to find our assigned lockers and our next class….I saw Debbie fromHenrico County coming down the same hallway – I could not believe my eyes.

School ended for me permanantly that day. I went sometimes-but most of the time I skipped out and went into the city. The pain of the students harrassing me in Virginia was not going to happen here…although I never thought that Debbie was in a strange place too,and knew no one-as I knew no one. I was’nt thinking that, and I was not going to stick around to find that that was the case.

My family by this time was thinking I was no good-the school bus thing,and now being caught traunt so many times and forced time after time to go back to that school where I’d go in the front door and out the back…so no one wanted to hear my reasons why-they just wanted me to hear them,and they were’nt talking with understanding. Not trying to learn…what is the problem.

The hippie movement was really big in the DC area and with so much going on with civil rights and the Viet Nam war and all of the changes that was being brought on by the movement of youth…well,it was hard not to get involved-if it was just merely becoming a hippie,and sothats what I did. I marched on the capital with the poor peoples march and attended an anti war rally at DuPont Circle that ended up going across the bridge to march on the Pentagon…I never made it that far but used to tell people I did to try to fit in.

Then one day I was given a stamp sized piece of paper and was told to set it on my tongue and let it disolve. It was LSD-altough I did’nt know it at the time…and years later learned it was legal in DC until 1967…and Sandoz chemical company was making the stuff right off of DuPont Circle. It was a buck a piece…one dollar and it changed my life. I ran away-of all the craziest places I ended up was inHenrico County ( ?? ) and my father came to get me.

One week later I was getting ready to go see a movie and was in my upstairs bedroom looking down at my two kid brothers playing on the lawn when my baby brother Carl ran right out into the street and into the path of an oncoming car-killing him. We buried him inPottstown -following the hearse all the way there…and listening to my mom say over and over that it should have been me instead of him…after all,he was a good boy-and I was not.

The real kicker came when I got caught skipping school and the truant officer returned me to the boys dean and there I was put into the class assumed that I would be in-I had been missing so much there that it was a state of confusion. It was an english class being taught by a student teacher-an intern from that same school…Miss Wagner. Now Miss Wagner took it upon herself to contact my father to tell him I was missing so much school that I was going to fail…but she was going to volunteer her free time to tutor me after school and on the week ends-I hated her.

The first week end came of her tutoring and my father proudly set up the dining room for her to use as a classroom, but she had another idea-she was going to take me to a farm up in Columbia County and teach me some things there. And…teach she did-she gave me my first lesson on nudity with a woman,and showed me another interesting thing…I called her Francis after that.

Francis got pregnant and was wisked away-I never saw her again,I don’t know anything about the child. I was kicked out of school…and so,I enlisted in the United States Navy.

I will keep my story here until I can get back to say more. Thank you.

A male rape survivors story

My name is Jay Herron. I am a fifty- five year old male who is a rape survivor. Now how can that be? only woman get raped !! That is a wrong assumption.

My story is unique,but not unusual-only society may make it seem unusual. Rape among males is a fact. Rape is a sexless and ageless crime.

What happened to me occurred in the new few days of 1970 ,to be more precise-new years eve. After the rape I was repeatedly sexually assaulted for a period nearly two months long.

My story is quite complex,my life has been as if I was a boxer that was’nt a fighter and yet he was proud enough every time he got knocked down that he’d get right back up. My life has been sort of like that- as I have seen tragedy as early as the age of eight,and things in between then and now have always been more unlike other peoples lives , sometimes I have difficulty believing it myself. But,what I will be writing about is true. It happened and there is no reason to season the details at all,because there is no reason to.

In April 1969 I enlisted in the United States Navy,I was 17 years old-and had to wait for my 18th birthday before I could enter active duty. That came in August and I was sent to Great Lakes ,Illinois for my basic training,boot camp.

I loved it. You would have to understand the whole story of my life to understand why I’d loved boots-most people hated it,but I loved every minute of it. I loved the Navy. My Dad had been in during WW II and my oldest brother was serving at the same time I had enlisted. My grandfather on my dads side was a river boat pilot-back in the days when river boats was the transportation of the time. M great grandfather was a sea captain-in charge of those great tall sailing ships. So the navy had fit a family background-but unfortunantly,I was’nt just joining the navy because of our heritage…it was because the US Marine recruiter had jammed his finger in my chest and knocked the wind out of me. And While I stood there trying to get my breathing back-gasping like crazy…the marine recruiter had started a list as to why I did’nt want to be a marine.

I weighed all of about 110 then,skinney-could’nt lift a feather…just about. But somehow his lecture sunk in and by the time my breathing returned tonormal I was pleased he suggested the Navy.

Viet Nam was going as strong as it could get at that time in 1969. We kids in those days had a lot of mixed direction to look at back then. Every week on TV was the Vic Morrow television show…’Combat’,and all of us kids wanted to go off and fight the Nazi’s. But V-Nam was different , and unlike the WW II era-we had the hippie movement,teens and young adults and priests and violence in our home land…all about the Viet Nam war…not the pulling together we saw during the world wars.

So-because I am just learning about this blog idea and that I am not too experienced at the computer…I am going to leave my story at this point and see how it goes into outer space and ends up on this blog site.

I will tell my story in its entire length-in details…as we go along. But this is my first try on this site so I do not want to say alot-and loose it.

Stay tuned,you’ll see an amazing life come together in front of your eyes. Thanks.