Golfe Juan and the Commander at the Sea Hotel

When a ship visits a port, it’s an opportunity for shore visits for the crew.  Some sailors take the organized tours that give a chance to learn more about the history and culture of the country and local area.  Other sailors are quite content, perhaps even eager, to stay close to the port and the fleet landing and enjoy the nightlife.  It’s typically not family-oriented entertainment.

Our ship had anchored at Cannes, on the French Riviera.  We were now on the outbound leg of our rotation in the Mediterranean.  As usual, junior officers had the occasional assignment of Shore Patrol Officer, which basically means trying to keep our sailors out of trouble and safe.  That’s not necessarily what every sailor wants.  And we received virtually no training, and very little guidance on how to do the job.

Just east of Cannes is the small bay of Golfe Juan, with a modest waterfront and the usual assortment of bars.  I was on duty that night along with Master Chief Steele, from my own division.  Chief Steele was truly a distinguished sailor with a wonderful grace and dignity in the way he conducted himself.  I knew he always had useful insights.  He was also the senior Chief on our ship.  So, I was feeling comfortable with our situation.

We had done a couple of rounds to check in with the Shore Patrol stationed in each of the most active locations.  Now the cardinal rule is to get anyone who looks out of control back to fleet landing right away before any trouble starts.  After it starts, it’s too late, and things become a mess.  Everything looked okay during that early round of visiting the hot spots.

A bit later in the evening, just before curfew, we had a call from the SP at the Sea Hotel, about 2 blocks away.  “Sir, the Commander from the Turner is here with a broad on his lap, he’s giving his men overnight liberty…and they’re breaking glass.”  “Okay, we’ll be right there.”  This is not good.  Nothing about that phone call was good, except that the shore patrol on duty asked for help when he needed it.

On the brisk walk, Chief Steele began giving me advice on how I was going to handle the situation.  And I was thinking, OK, I have 6 months of active-duty experience.  He has 30 years or so.  No amount of advice is going to make me feel very good about what we are going to encounter. 

The Commander, the Executive Officer of the destroyer, is a Lieutenant Commander in rank, a couple of notches above me.  He’s drunk.  He’s trying to be popular with his men.  Overnight liberty sounds really good after a few drinks, and we knew they had been having a very good time in the Sea Hotel.  I had never met him, yet I was trying to play out in my mind how the encounter would go. I had no idea whether, in my Shore Patrol role, I could overrule his permissions to his men, or whether I would have to convince him that getting his men back to the ship was in his own best interest. What I was sure of was that after enough drinking, logic no longer guides the outcomes.  There had also been some recent fleet liberty incidents that had caused the U.S. Sixth Fleet to become unwelcome and barred for a time from a couple of ports.

But there was one thing the Chief was very right about.  When we walked in that door, I was the one who would have to initiate the action, whatever it was.

We had a break.  On entering, I looked for our Shore Patrol and the Commander.  The SP came over right away, but “Where’s the Commander?”  “He’s upstairs with the woman, sir.”  No one was breaking glass, but there were 7 very surly looking sailors milling around the bar.  They had been given verbal overnight liberty, and the 3 of us who were the Shore Patrol team had to get them back to the fleet landing.  We still had some delicate work to do.

In that group of 7 sailors, the senior person was a First-Class Petty Officer.  He was a big man, as tall as me, and heavier by quite a bit.  He had to be my ally.  I walked over to him, and in a quiet voice, more in the tone of a suggestion than an order, I told him “We have to get everyone back to the ship.  This won’t be good if everyone is still here in the morning.”  Now his men were certainly listening, and clearly not convinced.

Fortunately, even after a night of drinking, the 1^st Class pulled it together, and after a long pause, turned to his men and to tell them “Alright guys, we have to get back to the ship.”  There wasn’t a lot of conviction in his voice.  No one moved.  But now it was no longer the Shore Patrol against 7 sailors.  It was Shore Patrol gently guiding the men to follow the direction of their 1^st Class.

That’s where the Chief, in his very distinguished uniform with his badge of rank and the long row of gold good-conduct stripes on his sleeve became a very effective presence.  Even if you’ve never been in the Navy, you know you should listen to him.  Chief Steele injected himself “OK men, you heard your First Class.  Time to head back to the fleet landing.”  In only a few minutes, the lobby of the Sea Hotel had emptied out.  Our SP escorted the men back to fleet landing, and the crisis was over.