Petty Officer Ostwald and the last tomato
EDITOR’S NOTE: Columnist John Ostwald submitted daily columns for the week prior to Veterans Day. The columns cover a variety of armed forces issues. The information in the columns came from interviews with veterans,family members, research and John’s perspective as an educator and veteran.
The military experience is often very complex. Your time in is influenced by a variety of factors like where you are sent in the world, your rank, military occupational specialty, age when you enlisted or were drafted, your personality before you went in, political climate of the country, etc.
I was in the Navy during the Vietnam War. Prior to my enlistment, I was a fairly immature unstable teenager with little direction. The mood of the country at that time was grim, to say the least. Try to picture millions of students protesting the Vietnam War. In late 1969, the My Lai Massacre was exposed to the American public followed in 1970 with the killing of four student protesters by the National Guard at Kent State. At one point, our base at the Great Lakes was on high alert because of the threats of violent demonstrations following Kent State. Fifty caliber machine guns were mounted on our barracks in North Chicago.
I was somewhat startled when I received my first set of orders. I thought I might end up on a ship, but my orders said, Inshore Undersea Warfare Group II. I didn’t know what these documents meant until I arrived on the amphibious base in Little Creek, Virginia. I lived in a barracks with bunk beds and a beer machine. This odd machine was great comfort to those who missed home, were scared of going to Nam, and longed for attention.
I trained a lot, drank a lot, and went to the gym a lot. Sometimes the training was boring. We learned how to set up our equipment in remote harbors and infiltrate enemy encampments. Years later, I learned that some members of Undershore Undersea Warfare Group I on the west coast were killed in Vietnam as well as some of the guys in my unit before I arrived. When I was in, my unit was not deployed to Vietnam – just lucky.
The camaraderie that I developed in my unit was emotionally rewarding. Greg Northrup from Ohio was my bunkmate for two years. It was like having a brother. I knew almost everything about him and went home with him once to Dayton. I lost touch with him after my discharge. About a year ago, I got an email from another guy in my unit I hadn’t spoken to in over forty years.
Near the end of my enlistment and near the end of the war, we went to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The only real adventure I experienced came one night on watch. Armed with a .45 caliber pistol, I patrolled a heavily wooded perimeter of the base while most of the personnel slept. It was very dark and the jungle could perfectly conceal an attempt to approach the base undetected. A crunching in the underbrush got my attention. I drew my weapon and barked, “Halt, who goes there!” into the frightening sea of tropical vegetation. No answer. The intruder’s approach continued and for a second time I commanded the intruder to halt and identify himself. Again, the only answer was the continued stealthy approach of the intruder. I levied my pistol and unloaded in the general direction of the alien sounds. The base sprang to life, with military personnel ready with weapons. Their lights illuminated what was a wall of impenetrable darkness only moments before. There, the intruder’s stealthy advance ended under a barrage of pistol fire by the young sailor. Yes, this would be the last tomato this iguana would ever steal from a U.S. naval base!
When I was discharged, I went back to college and the government paid for all my education through graduate school. I have only benefitted by my time in the service. I matured, made great friends, and developed personal survival skills to fight my personal battles with cancer, relationship challenges and most recently my son’s near death car accident.