A Sailor's Valor

A Sailor's Valor

The USS America, the aircraft carrier where I served as a boatswain's mate.

I told him, 'I’m bored, but I ain’t that bored.'

By Citizen Correspondent George Broglia

Date Posted: 08/14/08

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I volunteered for the navy in 1976 before the GI Bill expired on January 1, 1977, and changed tuition benefits. I had attempted going to college, but couldn't afford to further my studies even with the financial aid that was provided at the time. Also, my neighborhood in the Bronx was deteriorating, and I needed to find a way out. Things were getting wild and woolly. I was nineteen years old when I volunteered, and I figured we wouldn't have a serious conflict anywhere since Vietnam War memories were still fresh. The incident I describe took place during the summer of 1978 on the mighty USS America, an aircraft carrier. Before I joined, friends felt I was being too bold, hasty, even desperate, but I felt I was doing the right thing and would benefit in the end. I realized what I was getting into—the hardships of military life are self-evident—but as the ol' saying goes, "You don't know sh-t until you get there."

I was on the fantail watch: the most boring, sleep-inducing detail you can be assigned on an aircraft carrier. The watch entails being on the alert for any sailor who might fall overboard; it’s performed on the aft, or back end, of the ship. You must be very careful not to fall asleep, because the masters-at-arms, or ship police, are making rounds. If you’re caught sleeping, you will be sent to see the captain. Three days of confinement with bread and water as your only nourishment await as your punishment.

However, on this day, falling asleep was the last thing to worry about. I was on duty on a clear and calm day. The fantail was full of sailors milling about, some performing their assigned duties. My shipmate, Patrick Cayne—a tall, burly, and impetuous individual—happened to be assigned to the fantail as well. We were boatswain’s mates, the only division of sailors on ship who could carry knives on their belts (for the rope work our jobs often entailed).

It was during the Cold War, when drug enforcement was not as stringent as it is today. On this day, Seaman Cayne approached me and asked how I was doing. I told him, “I’m bored, homey.”

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pills. I noticed some were the infamous Biodramina D, a type of amphetamine one could easily obtain in many Spanish pharmacies over the counter—we had just docked in Barcelona a few days earlier. The pill was a favorite of watch-goers, as it helped you stay awake on those 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. graveyard shifts.

Among the pills in that big hand of his were others I did not recognize. I asked what they were. He said Seconal, a barbiturate.