Flight Ops off Cuba

It was a warm, muggy late afternoon in April of 1962, in the Caribbean off Cuba. The 1800 launch was due to return to the USS Constellation. The "Air Boss" announced over the ship's 1MC, "Personnel required for the recovery of aircraft, man your stations". I was an plane captain working the flight deck for VF 132. We the "Peg Leg Pete's" flew the Chance Vought F8U-2N Crusader. we were in the second month of the shakedown cruise for the USS Constellation CVA 64. The day shift plane captain,Dick Caruso on Crusader 204, told me the tie down chains,and turnbuckles were on the seaward side of the ship's island. I picked up the chains and turnbuckles, about 50 pounds total,and headed for my spot forward, near the port catapult. As all flight deck personnel do, I located my emergency safety spots, in case of a crash or other mishap. My primary spot would be the port catwalk, just outside the VF 132 berthing area. Secondary would be the starboard catwalk. The third, if I had time, would be starboard of the ship's island. Satisfied that all my safety spots were usuable, I turn my attention to the "Air Boss" calling out the landing sequence. "Demon 101 on final". I watched the F3H's angle of attack indicator glow in the dusk. After being part of several hundred carrier landings, you get a feel of how safe the landing may be. The AD's of VA 135, seemed to hover over the deck and drop down to a "trap". The A3D's of VAH 10, the Navy's medium bomber,we called them whales, because they were so big, were always a challenge coming aboard. Sometimes the plane would hit the deck and bounce ten feet into the air while trapping number 3 wire. I always gave them my full undivided attention. All four of the F3H Demons landed without too much difficulty. As did the A4 Skyhawks. It was completly dark now. A red light shown from on the flight deck from the "island". That was the only light allowed during night flight ops. You had to maintain your night vision, or else nasty things can happen to you. The AD's, Demons, and Sky hawks, had taxied forward to their refueling spots over the catapults. I hear "Crusader 204 on final". That's me. I could see the running lights of the destroyers, acting as our plane guards. I see the "angle of attcks" lights on the Crusader's nose wheel. It changed from yellow ,to red, to green as the pilot sought to "fly the ball" into a safe landing. He's way too low, he won't clear the ramp. Still too low, my survival instincts take over. I see sparks come from the plane.I head toward my primary safe spot in the catwalk. I drop the tie down chains on the flight deck and head to safety. Someone coming out of the catwalk runs into me,knocking me onto the flight deck. Time, freezes, for a moment. I can smell the sea,jet fuel, feel my heart pound. I see the Crusader slide over the ships angle deck and head toward the water. I can smell my own sweat now. My heart is in my throat. I see the plane highlighted off the sea as the pilot hits afterburner in an attempt to get airborne again. Lying flat on my stomach, I hear the ship's klaxon and the "Air Boss" call out, " Crash!Crash! Crash on the flight deck. The nearest Repair Locker to scene of the crash is Repair 8". I see, Crusader 204, my charge, gain altitude and head away from the ship. Red search lights bounce around the portside catwalk, my safety spot. Much to my utter astonishment,the plane's starboard main gear is found in the port catwalk ,where I was headed. All three hundred pounds of it, in my safe spot! Had I been able to get to he catwalk, the landing gear would have hit me. The guy coming out of the catwalk onto the flight deck, saved my life. We take the strut into our squadron's Ready Room. The radio, in the compartment, used to monitor ship to plane transmitions, squawks " Crusader 204 head to NAS Leeward Point at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. He's still alive and flying. The "Air Boss" calls for the pilot to "Bingo" to the beach, and gave him a heading. The pilot, Lt. Robert D. Loomis from Detroit, landed on a foamed runway at Gitmo, on the nose wheel and the port main mount. He slid the length of the foamed runway and continued to slide off the end of it. He was able to pop the canopy and jumped out of the plane as it slowed and before it went over the cliffs at runways end. It lodged between two large boulders before it could slide into the sea. Legend goes, the crash crew had to chase him down in the ambulance, as he was a streak headed away from the crash site. I took pictures of it the next day as we entered the harbor at Leeward Point. We craned it aboard and took it back to the states with us, when we returned to the states the following month.

It was Fall,1962. My ship, the carrier USS Franklin D. Roosevelt, was in Naples, Italy. We would be in port for about a week. Enough time for all hands to have liberty at least twice. The weather was somewhat mild. The heavy winter storms would hit Naples later in the month.
All sailors, officers and enlisted, are in "Duty Sections". That means you have extra duties, beyond your normal job, usually every fourth day. The duty sections are broken down into a Port Section (sections 1 & 3 ,odd) and a Starboard Section (sections 2 & 4 ,even). The extra duties range from Shore Patrol, to Officer, or Petty Officer, of the Watch, to standing fire watches throughout the ship. You get it every fourth day. All hands, officer, enlisted, stand duty, whether they want to or not.
Let me tell you something about the ship's laundry. All clothing, whites and dungarees, scivvies,and dress white uniforms are washed and dried in the ship's laundry. Our enlisted berthing area, A-304-L, quartered 85 guys, petty officer 3rd class and below. The compartment would be comfortable for half that number. The racks in our compartment, in some places, ran seven racks high. The seventh tier almost touched the overhead.
On the bulkhead, next to the storage space for our seabags, were six nylon bags about six feet tall and and about to feet across. Three were for whites ,and three were for darks and dungarees. One of the jobs for "Duty Sections", was to take the laundry bags from our compartment to the laundry. That meant hauling the six bags, which weighed about eighty to a hundred pounds up the ladder to the second deck, over to the starboard side , then down two more ladders to the fifth level. That's four decks below the Hangar Deck. Another duty section would haul them back to our compartment . Often whites, especially our white hats would come back with rust spots on them from the ship's dryers. Two of my four navy issued white hats had these spots on them. Usually, you can't see them.
On this particular day, I had Liberty. I planned on going ashore at 1300 hours when "Liberty Call" was piped over the ship's 1 MC. Unfortunately the "Air Boss" planned to move my plane, Crusader 201, to the hangar deck for scheduled maintenance. So , as plane captain on 201, I had to "ride the brakes", as it was moved from the flight deck to the hangar bay three. I was done with this chore around 1545 hours. That accomplished, I returned to my berthing area to get ready to go ashore. I told the guys, I'd meet them at the "Kit Kat Club". Every liberty port has a "Kit Kat Club", usually within a block or two of the "Fleet Landing" pier.
I put on my dress blues. They were clean and pressed. I had just made petty officer third class, which meant I could stay ashore until 0100 hours, and all my non rated buddies had to return to "Fleet Landing" at 2400 hours.
However the clean laundry had not come back yet, and the only white hat I had, had a rust spot on the top of my hat. Who would look? I stood in line in hangar bay three, waiting to go down the ladder to the quarter deck and step into the liberty launch, when I noticed the "Officer of the Deck" was our Air Wing commander. Commander R.C. Fowler was six foot five, unusally tall for a pilot. He didn't look particularly happy at having to stand "Officer of the Deck" duty. Would he notice?
My turn. I stepped up, ID and Liberty card in hand, saluted him and snappily requested."Sir, permission to go ashore?" He gave me the once over , "Change your hat, it has spot on it". Damn! Of all the officers to stand duty, I had to get a tall one.
I went back to our berthing area, hoping to borrow a white. No one was in the compartment. Everyone, who could, was ashore. The rest were nowhere to be found. Hmmmmmmmmm, what to do? No chance of a different white hat, however my shoes had a high gloss spit shine on them. It was several days before payday, and someone needed money to go ashore, so he shined shoes for $2. I had mine done. I returned to the quarterdeck with my ID and Liberty Card, saluted Commander Fowler, put my left foot forward for him inspect, and asked "Sir, permission to go ashore?" He looked at the spit shined shoes, returned the salute and said, "Much better, permission granted".
So I went ashore in Napoli, met my buddies, who had a head start on me. I had several beers, a nice meal, and many laughs with my buddies. And stayed out until 0100 hours, because I was a third class petty officer, and I could.