Page 104 - People & Places In Time

War & Remembrance
First stop Coronado
I reported for active duty to Treasure Island
at the Navy transition barracks in the middle of San Francisco Bay, to await further orders. I was there with long time and childhood friend, John Keyes. Soon enough, with orders, we were on our way to San Diego and Coronado Island and uncharacteristically for the military, we remained stationed together.
We arrived at the Naval Operations Support Group (NOSG) base. This place an unexpected ferry ride across San Diego bay was home for the Navy S.E.A.L (sea, air and land) Team in conjunction with the amphibious assault teams that included the Boat Sup- port Units (BSU 1&2). What a new and fascinating world I found myself, once more, someplace I didn’t imagen existed. Here we are in the Navy, but without ships. We could see the large ships across the bay, docked at the Naval Base in San Diego, and the imposing aircraft car- riers at North Island Naval Air Station, but not with-in this little niche we found ourselves. We had joined the Navy thinking it might be a safe place to serve; now we’re in a place that looked more directly connected to possible combat.
Coronado, the town, rests on the very flat island of Coronado, a one-mile ferry ride, maybe more, across the bay from the city of San Diego. The northern and largest portion of the island is the naval air station, developed from coastal marsh land during WWII.
Exiting the ferry and through an arched metal gate is the start of one of the prettiest main streets I know of. Orange Street is a four-lane boulevard, divided down the middle by a broad grass strip filled with Palm trees. Stores, restaurants and businesses defining the vil- lage, line both sides. About one half mile down this main street it divides as a ‘Y’. Stay to the right and you soon come upon the Del Coronado Hotel. Built in 1888 it stands out for its grand shingle style design, fronting one of the most beautiful beaches anywhere. Perhaps the Del Coronado is more famous as the backdrop to the move “Some Like it Hot” . . . . one of my favorite all-time movies.
Following the left arm of the ‘Y’ the road begins to leave town, passing the yacht harbor and bending
south. Today, this portion of road is lined with intrusive, high rise condominiums, obscuring the beach. The road continues south along what is called the Silver Strand heading toward Chula Vista, Imperial Beach and finally the border with Mexico. This strip of narrow land, much of it less than a quarter of a mile wide is technically a peninsula which connects Coronado to the mainland, such that it really isn’t an island after all. Still it’s such a twenty-mile roundabout drive that as far as any con- cerned, it’s still an island.
Prior to the condominiums and a bridge from San Diego being built; before 1968, Coronado was a very quiet and pleasant place to hang out.
About three quarters of a mile beyond the yacht harbor on the left, sits the amphibious base, where we were stationed, it’s across the street from the SEAL base,
which was on the Pacific Ocean side. For John and me this all seemed too good to be true . . . we had been stationed on a resort island. We shared a private space with two beds in a larger barracks. Soon each of us had brought our own car to the base with civilian clothes stored in the trunk. Our workday responsibilities were not difficult, nor did they take much time, leaving us with plenty of time to enjoy this place we had lucked into. On weekends we could walk across the street to the SEAL base, then walk up the mile-long stretch of wide, empty beach to the Del Coronado. Continuing past the hotel we would lie on a beach fronting a line of very large mansions, looking a lot like Newport, Road Island, to me, (I haven’t been there, so could be wrong).
Complacency is not compatible with mili-
tary thinking, i.e. don’t become comfortable. There
are people out there anxious to up end your life. All
of a sudden, the next thing John and I knew, our days sunning on Coronado beach are in the past, we were headed back across the bay toward those ships we had only viewed in the distance from our island resort.
New orders had sent us to the USS Seminole AKA 104, attack troop and cargo ship bound for Viet- nam filled with all kinds of stuff to fight a war, including two Phantom fighter jets stored on deck. We hardly had time to adjust to this new routine. Totally unsettled we found ourselves standing at the ships railing, as Point Loma and the California coastline faded away neither of us had ever been out of sight of land before. I went to sleep that first night at sea with not a clue as to what to expect. The next port was Pearl Harbor.
Walking along a street in Honolulu, Hawaii late one afternoon I happened upon an old friend from Exeter, Chip Dungan. He was in the Army and expected the next day to be on his way to Vietnam. We had din- ner together that night, said goodbye, good luck and that was it. I thought nothing more about the coinci- dence.
Some time later, perhaps six months or more,
I heard that Chip had defected the next day, follow- ing our meeting and dinner, and that he was living in Canada. These days I see Chip from time to time when we’re both in Exeter, he lives in Southern California now. Most importantly we do talk amiably, behaving
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