In November 1969, my ship the U.S.S. NUECES (APB-40) and her sister, U.S.S. MERCER (APB-39), were on their way back to the United States for decommissioning.  Our first stop was Japan.  We went to Yokosuka and MERCER went to Sasebo.  After about a weeks' upkeep, we joined up again sailed on to the Philippines, then to Hawaii, and then home.

 

The approach to Yokosuka was shrouded in fog.  The coastal waters around Japan are some of the most heavily trafficked in the world and I spent a memorable four hour watch as fog lookout as we headed into port.  To stand fog lookout, the normal watches are doubled.  Both lookouts listen for ship's whistles, horns, or bells -- or the hiss of water from a ship cutting through the water -- that what's heard just before a collision.  One of the lookouts mans the sound-powered phones and talks to the bridge, and both look and listen for other ships or boats.  The problem with fog is that sound appears to come from all directions instead of just one.  Fortunately, I did not have to stand more than one four hour tour as a fog lookout and we arrived in port without incident.

 

Japan is a very mountainous country and Yokosuka is a deepwater port.  It seemed as if the mountains came right down to the water's edge.  What flat land that existed, was probably landfill.  Once outside the base, the houses and businesses of the town clung to the hills like multi-colored mushrooms.  The streets resembled those of San Francisco and the drivers on them seemed like crazed kamikaze pilots on their last missions.

 

The Enlisted Club at the base was the former Imperial Japanese Navy Officer's Club.  It was a large stone building and very nicely appointed on the inside.  While in port, the ship made arrangements with the Club for a ship's party.  Arrangements were made so that only a skeleton crew remained aboard and off we went for an evening of partying.

 

The the Club offered a "target-rich" environment of attractive females, and soon everyone had a comely oriental lady next to them (it seemed) at the party.  Things were going along well -- the entertainment was good and the booze was flowing. 

 

My lady friend then asked me a question; "What's wrong with your friend?" (pointing to our first class Boatswain's Mate (BM1) Jones).  (Note: names have been changed to protect the guilty).  "Why is he with a bennie boy?"

 

Now, BM1 Jones thought he'd really scored with this sweet young thing that evening.  They'd been playing kissy-face for awhile.  I hadn't paid much attention, until my girl mentioned "benny boy."  A "benny boy" was a transvestite or female impersonator.  That's what had latched onto BM1 Jones, who wasn't a sober judge of anything -- or so it appeared.

 

That was up until his "touchy-feely" snuggling touched some physical equipment that should not have been there on his attractive young lass.  He froze and looked as if someone had hit him with a bucket of ice water.  The shock on his face quickly turned to anger.  There was a short, heated conversation, and Jone's companion quickly exited the party.  BM1 Jones, then proceeded to ease the pain of his separation with a large quantity of alcohol.  When the Club closed down about 0100, Jones was helped back to the ship by his deck force buddies to sleep it off.

 

By the middle of the morning on the following day, Jones' hangover had worn off and he was getting quite a bit of ribbing from other's that had watched his antics at the party.  We stopped at Subic Bay, Philippines, and Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, before we reached our port of Long Beach, California.  At each stop, there was always some wag that asked Jones about how his "girlfriend" was doing.  The poor guy would get red as a beet when he remembered the incident.  I hope all the good natured ribbing didn't permanently affect his skirt chasing abilities.