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A Christmas Sea Story, 25 December
1968
By Matt Coffey
We
called her the “Iron Canoe.” Named after a county in
Louisiana, she was officially known as USS Caddo Parish
(LST 515) “Landing Ship Tank” in Navy-talk. She was 328
foot long, 50 feet wide and capable of a rollicking 10
knots top speed with one purpose: delivering tanks,
trucks and soldiers onto an beach. The Caddo Parish was
designed for and performed at Normandy in 1944/
Designed by the British who must have had a thing for
making Americans sea sick, the shallow drafted,
flat-bottomed LST could, as they say, “Roll on wet
grass.” There were two hand powered 40 MM guns made in
1943 designed for shooting down slow German Stuka dive
bombers, two 50 cal. machine guns and two unauthorized M
60 machine guns which had somehow followed the chief
engineer home one night. They were not stolen,
however. In the service, it was known as a “Midnight
Requisition.”
On Christmas Day 1968, the Caddo Parish, almost a
quarter century after Normandy, arrived back in Vung
Tau, Republic of Vietnam. We had just completed three
weeks of repairs at Subic Bay in the Philippines and
were now preparing to take up a new assignment,
resupplying the “Green Fleet”, in the Mekong and Bassac
Rivers. For the next six weeks we would carry bullets,
beef and whatever else they needed, to the ships,
painted dark green to blend with the jungle background ,
housing and supporting an infantry brigade in the
delta. In the confines of a river, LST also stood for
“Long Slow Target.” A month before, a sister ship,
the USS Westchester County had lost 19 men to mines in
the Mekong River.
I was the first lieutenant, in charge of the boatswains
and gunners, mostly non-rated men a year or two younger
than me. There were about 30 of them and they were ,
to put it nicely, a spirited crowd. A week earlier they
had been tearing up the bars of Olongapo City in Subic
and sported a variety of bruises and new tattoos which
proudly proclaimed love of Mom, the Navy or whomever was
their current sweetheart. One character, Boatswains
Mate 2nd Class Stone, in addition to
sporting a totally non-regulation earring, had his left
arm tattooed with a number of current and former
girlfriends names. By December 1968 he was well south
of his elbow.
Seaman Grimmel, his left ear bandaged from damage in a
bar fight, dragged himself across the main deck as we
entered Vung Tau harbor. Grimmel was the type to pick a
fight with a shipmate if no enemy could be found. He
hated Vietnam and the Vietnamese and just wanted to go
back to Tennessee and punch familiar faces. Grimmel
wasn’t unique in the deck gang I was privileged to
lead. He was a capable but sullen sailor.
No one was particularly happy to be back in ‘Nam,
especially on Christmas Day. I was missing a pregnant
wife and I would not see her or our child for nine
months. Everyone had their own reason for wishing to be
anywhere but the fuel pier at Vung Tau on Christmas
morning. You could smell Vietnam almost before you
could see it. A mix of rotting vegetation, sea salt,
cooking fires and diesel fuel assaulted the sense of
smell. The monsoon season was over so there wasn’t even
a hope of a cleansing rain in the 95 degree heat. And
it was hotter below the steel deck. We faced a
working day of taking on fuel, moving to a cargo dock,
loading cargo and then shoving off for Dong Tam in the
Mekong River. Not much holiday spirit here. But the
cooks, as Navy cooks always do, were preparing the best
dinner they could create for the day and everyone had
received packages from home, favorite cookies, candy and
the occasional forbidden and definitely non-regulation
nip of Scotch in a refilled aftershave bottle.
Everyone had something. One sailor had gotten a wreath
made out of homemade vanilla fudge, another received
three fruitcakes. Maybe his family didn’t like him.
The captain’s sister had made chocolate chip cookies and
wrapped the box in a big silver ribbon and sitting
alongside the cookies on a table in the wardroom was a
round red tin of pfferneuse cookies from a German bakery
two blocks from my grandmother’s apartment. And there
were two dozen Thomas’ English Muffins. Being from
Arkansas, the Old Man who was all of 29, had never
tasted a good English muffin so I knew one would bring
at least three cookies in exchange. And Phil Kirstein,
our supply officer had claimed and demonstrated that he
was the best Jewish Christmas tree decorator in the
South China Sea.
We glided to the fueling pier and, as usual, a couple of
dozen Vietnamese kids came on the pier to wave at us.
Our sailors normally ignored them or tossed a few coins
and watched them scramble for what amounted to
pennies. We tied up to the pier and secured the
engines and began taking on fuel.
Then something strange happened. As I watched from the
bridge, Grimmel, who seldom spoke to anyone, slouched
below. He reappeared a few minutes later carrying a
brown box. He handed it down to the children. When
the children opened the box we all saw that it was
filled with candy canes. Then two more sailors,
Barsdale and Matthews, did the same. Before long,
almost all the men went below and returned with candy,
cakes and cookies. These sailors, my tattooed Magi,
gave away to the kids, kids they normally ignored,
their presents from home that they had been saving for
days. We sent the boatswains mate of the watch below
to the wardroom and he soon came out on deck an
assortment of boxes and tins. The round red tin of
German cookies and the box with the big silver ribbon
soon went over the side. The treats went down to the
pier as we took on diesel fuel. And, except for the
high pitched laughter of the children, it was quiet,
very quiet.
Soon
we were topped off with fuel and the boxes of Christmas
goodies had disappeared. The children drifted away as
we started the engines, took in the lines and sailed
away to our war.
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