USS MULLINNIX DD-944

Gaeta, Italy 1961



Gaeta, Italy (Unknown Year)

Excerpt from "The Last Gun Ship - History of USS Mullinnix DD-944"
A Historical Novel By Frank A. Wood

1961 Lesbos (island), Greece Vistor Information (PDF)

1961 Mullinnix Gaeta, Italy Vistor's Information (PDF)


Gaeta is a city in the province of Latina, in Lazio, central Italy. Set on a promontory stretching towards the Gulf of Gaeta, it is 75 miles from Rome and 50 mi from Naples. The town has played a conspicuous part in military history - its fortifications date back to Roman times, and it has several traces of the period, including the 1st-century mausoleum of the Roman general Lucius Munatius Plancus at the top of the Monte Orlando. Gaeta's fortifications were extended and strengthened in the 15th century, especially throughout the history of the Kingdom of Naples. Gaeta is also a significant fishing and oil seaport.

Grappa is an alcoholic beverage, a fragrant, grape-based pomace brandy of Italian origin that contains 35 to 60 percent alcohol by volume. The flavor of grappa, like that of wine, depends on the type and quality of the grapes used, as well as the specifics of the distillation process. Grappa is made by distilling the skins, pulp, seeds, and stems left over from winemaking after pressing the grapes.

The best way to drink grappa for maximum enjoyment is to fill the glass one-quarter full and wait for 10 to 15 minutes. Then inhale the aroma briefly and allow it to take effect. Don’t keep your nose over the glass for too long, as the alcohol vapors exhaust your sense of smell. It is better to breathe in the aroma briefly and often. Take a sip, wash it around your mouth and swallow.

An orchard of date palms and olive trees flourished on the near bank next to the rocky slope. Silver birch shimmered in between, forming a barrier against the wind. The bar looked out over the dazzling blue of the Mediterranean. The walls were big plantation shutters that could be pushed aside so the inside and the outside were one, opening the bar to the sea and a warm breeze that smelled of flowers caught in a women's hair.

His hair was dark brown and so were his eyes, deep set beneath bushing eyebrows. With a face like a block, pitted like cheap concrete, a rusty tan, and a thin no-nonsense mouth. He was overweight and had the appearance of being drunk. They called him Wiz, as he suffered from TB - tiny bladder. He spent more time in the head than he did in his rack. Wiz was a drinking man, his face so bloated by rotgut that his eyes appeared lost in his cheeks, showing more yellow teeth than a timber wolf. He drank down the grappa, felt it burn his throat and warm his stomach. By now, he had grappa-roses in his face.

Wiz was from Mississippi. He thought the Navy should serve Beef Jerky, Yoo-Hoos, and Moon Pies at least twice a week. And Mountain Dew instead of bug juice. Bug juice, a sugary drink mixed in vast quantities from a mysterious powder commonly served on US Navy vessels in the enlisted men's mess. Can also be used to clean brass.

His mom always meant well. She never did, he was incapable of entering a bar for just one drink. But, were any of them? His Zippo clanked as he lit a Pall Mall. The smoke leaked from his mouth like damp cotton.

He could put a sailor-spin on just about any yarn or bullshit story anyone told. It seemed he'd heard it all and told all of it at least three times. He was their hillbilly dalie lama. Every word he uttered was a lie, including 'and' and 'the'.

The pub was a rustic room. It was cozy, with a small fire in the fireplace, and a card room that held a pool table. The pub-half of the room had a long bar, behind which were shelves of multi-colored liquor bottles, and no bartender. This was like dying and going to heaven.

Wiz was the kind of guy that while he was telling you a sea-story you’d keep one eye on him and the other over his shoulder looking out for a sailor from another ship, a hooker, or gambler that he’d screwed out of something, and you had to keep one hand on your drink as well. He had a considerable thirst.

Wiz slid behind the bar and said to the rest of the sailors sitting at the bar "Good evening gentlemen. May I offer you a cocktail?" He spoke English with a Mississippi accent. So, when he said "Fire!" it came out "Fah-er!" sounding like a Jackson fire fighter he once worked with.

A sailor from the USS Laffey responded, "I believe I'll have a small sherry. NO - make that a double grappa, no ice."

"Excellent, sir." Wiz set the shot glasses on the bar, found the grappa, with a bottle in each hand, filled the glasses to the brim. "To the Navy."

"Fuck the Navy!"

"To the Mux then?"

"To the Laffey and Mux?"

"Hear, Hear!"

They slammed the empty glasses onto the bar, "Fill'um up again kind sir," Laffey said.

Handing the bottles over, "Fill'um yourself Laffey!"

To no one in particular, Wiz said, "I'm getting too old for this shit," feeling the fur on his tongue and the ache in his head. "So, you from the Laffey? What’s your name?" Wiz asked.

"I'm from Abilene, KS, so they call me Ike," he replied. He spoke with a smoky, mixed-breed accent that grated like a wire brush on metal. He used brylcreem on his hair and his eyes were black as ink. Buckteeth the size of gravestones.

Coughing, Ike says, "You know what I miss? Twenty years ago you never think about being sick. Dead, maybe, the idea of it, but not sick. Your body's just something you carry around with you. Then one day you’re sitting in a dive like this, feeling like shit", his voice trailing off.

Another cough, filled with putrid flam. He crushes out the butt of his Camel, and slammed home the last of the grappa in his glass. "I'm a dead man walking."

"You can shit in one hand and wish with the other. And see which one gets full faster," said Wiz.

"You're learning kid, you’re learning."

Ike sounded like he'd smoked from birth. He sipped his grappa. There was nothing like a grappa for removing the fatigue of a long day.

In an attempt to change the tone of the conversation, Wiz said, "I've killed deadly men and dangerous animals and made love to four Chinese women, all of them on the same night and in the same bed, and one of them with only one eye."

It worked. The bar exploded with laughter.

"Something wrong?" asked Wiz.

Ike had lost a shipmate on his last ship. "Sad end to a friendship, one of us died."

"You sure it wasn't both of you?"

Ike wondered if it was true, that part of him had really died in the car with Scotty.

Wiz tried once again. "My family tree is from the hill country of Mississippi. If you saw it, you'd notice I'm kin to myself."

Laughing, "get me another drink," said Ike.

"Hell Ike, its 0400."

"Then float a cheerio in it."

The two, fast grappa buddies to the end, both staggered back to the Laffey. To be continued...

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