Hilch Lindsay, CTRC, USN (Ret), 1963-1984 My story starts out like many of those I’ve read on these pages. I too had a friend who was a few years older than me, and, while not quite as cool as “Junebug Detherage” in Tom Shirley’s story, Jim Lacy came in a close second. He graduated from high school a couple of years ahead of me, joined the Navy, and ended up on a Tin Can out of Yokosuka. Every time he made it home on leave, I would sit for hours and listen to his stories about the exotic Orient – yes, those stories! I’m sure, like everyone else, he borrowed most of those stories from older, saltier sailors, but I was none the less enthralled. The U.S. Navy was going to be the life for me! My parents however, had different ideas. They flatly stated that if I didn’t go to college I would be disowned, disliked, disemboweled, disenfranchised (whatever that meant?), and the most convincing of all, that my father would beat me within an inch of my young life - slowly. Fearing being beaten to death more than desirous of the pleasures of the Orient, I went to college (with familiar results). I managed to get tossed from two different colleges in two semesters (1 ea.). My father finally saw the light, the Navy was for me. I showed up for boot camp in San Diego asking “Which way to the Far East?” When it came time for classification I was told that I qualified for almost any A school in the Navy. My response: “I don’t want to go to school, which way to the Far East?” Probably not the right answer. I put in for any ship headed for WESTPAC, so naturally I received orders, as a non-designated seaman, to a Tin Can home ported in Charleston, S.C. Upon reporting aboard I was assigned to deck force and was asked “What do you want to strike for?” I, of course, didn’t have a clue. But I remember always seeing a Sonarman in lots of WWII movies, so I tried for that. They put headsets on me, said I would hear three tones, and would have to identify which one was different, and whether it was higher or lower than the other two. “Ping, Ping, Ping.” It had to be a trick; “They’re all the same” I said, figuring I’d outsmart them. So much for SO. Next, I tried Radarman, which also figured prominently in a lot of WWII movies. Have you ever tried to write backwards with a grease pencil? So much for RD. Finally, I found my niche; I was assigned as a Gunner’s Mate striker to a 5”-mount. Finally, I had a home! Except, as it turned out, for one minor problem: the 5”-mount scared the hell out of me. Things kept blowing up. When I got PNA’d for GMG3 I decided that my future was elsewhere. But where? A shipmate of mine was an FT3 and said that if I cross rated to FT I would learn computers, hydraulics, electronics, etc. It sounded like a good course of action, so I applied for FT school in Bainbridge, MD. Unbelievably, I was selected. Since there was no class convening for several months, I was placed in transit status at Charleston Naval Station. I spent my time doing fun stuff like creosoting piers and painting everything in sight. One evening, the dad of one of the guys in the barracks visited his son. I spent a short time talking with him and discussing my future Navy career plans. When I mustered on the grinder the next morning I was told to report to the COMSEC unit the other side of the shipyard. “What’s a COMSEC unit, and what do they want with me?” I cautiously asked. “Who knows?” the MAA responded; “Nobody knows what those guys do!” So off I hiked to the mysterious COMSEC unit. I was escorted into the office of one CTAC Leonard Mayberry Chisolm. He noted that I had requested FT school and was awaiting my assignment to class. The fact that this unknown person sitting in a windowless building behind barbed wire knew this fact made me a bit nervous. “Why am I here?” I timidly asked. “Because you were chewing the fat with the CO last night in the barracks, and he told me to talk to you. That’s why!” he responded. “How’d you like to be a CT?” he asked. Standard answer “What’s a CT?” The response: “It’s a Communications Technician; you’d be an R-Brancher and REPAIR comms and crypto equipment.” He said he could get me immediate orders to school in Pensacola. Well, Florida sounded a whole lot better than Maryland, so off I went. Two weeks later I’m sitting in a large room with a typewriter in front of me screaming “Dit Dah – Alpha” at the top of my lungs. “Chiieeeeff” I hollered, “I’m in the wrong class. I’m supposed to be an R-Brancher. I’m supposed to be learning to repair crypto equipment!” The answer: “Har, Har, Har. Shuddup and learn the code!” I had been torpedoed and hornswoggled! I couldn’t believe it! I had actually been lied to by a U. S. Navy Chief Petty Officer! Of course, he was an A-Brancher. Epilogue: Eight years later I reported to NCS Guam as a First Class, headed for the HFDF shop. CTRCM Wayne Maude welcomed me and said he would take me in to meet the Division Officer, a LTjg Chisolm. “Leonard Mayberry Chisolm?” I asked. “Why yes” he replied. “Lead on” said I. As we entered the DO’s office, Wayne said “LT, I’d like you to meet…..” I interrupted him with “Chief Chisolm, you lying SOB. R-Branch, repair!” Master Chief Maude blanched; LTjg Chisolm looked up in shock. “Charleston, COMSEC, GMGSN Lindsay striking for FT” I stated. “Oh yeah” LTjg Chisolm said, slowly recalling. “We were short of R-Brancher’s then. Had to get them any way we could.” Vindication at last! I never regretted becoming a CT, or an R-Brancher. I spent 20 years as a CT, the last 8 as a BULLSEYE programmer. I followed that with 6 years as a defense contractor and for the past 20 years working as an Army civilian at NSA-T, San Antonio, TX. I’ll be retiring this coming February after spending 48 years either working for, or contracted to, the U.S. Military. I wonder what’s around the next corner, and what line of s… is next coming. Lying A-Branchers!