USS MULLINNIX DD-944

Rio de Janeiro 1959

Copacabana Beach in Rio
(Not from Mullinnix Crew)

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

COMSOLANT left the ship to call officially on the U.S. Ambassador to Brazil, Chief of the US Naval Mission, Commander-in-Chief of the Brazilian Navy, Vice Chief of Naval Operations, and Commander Brazilian First Naval District. Later than afternoon Contra-Almirante Helio Garnier Sampaio Brazilian Navy, Rear Admiral T.C. Ragan, Chief of US Naval mission, Capitiao De Mar Naval Orlando Miller Brazilian Navy, and Almirante De Exquadra Jorge Do Paco Mattosa Maia, Ministra De estado Dos Megacious Da Marinha came on board to return the official calls of COMSOLANT.

It became apparent to the crew that this just wasn’t a liberty stop. The first clue being the many dignitaries for which the crew and to get the ship into tip-top shape. For what? For people that wouldn’t know a deck if they stepped on one. 4 March was spent preparing for the masses. Tomorrow would find the ship invaded by hundreds of Brazilian civilians anxious to see America’s newest fighting ship.

But first things first. First – liberty call, liberty call! BM3 Jonathan “DD” Kramer couldn’t wait to hit the beach. It had only been eight months and they were back in Rio. Was he living right or what?

"Hey Landowsky you got liberty?" hollered Kramer.

"Does the bear shit in the woods? What do you think we should do?" answered Landowsky.

"You mean, WHERE should we go don't you?"

"You think'in what I'm think'in DD?"

"Probably. Rat & Raven! Here we come, baby!!" screamed Kramer, "I can't fuckin' wait!"

"Do you think he still works there?" questioned Landowsky.

"Hell Lanny they’ll bury Cappel in that place." Adding, "You seen Doc?"

"That's who I was looking for when you yelled."

"Good. You go find Doc and I'll round up Bobby and Duke. We'll meet you on the pier at 1600."

The purple clouds thickened, bisecting the afternoon sun causing a starburst of orange, red, and yellow streaks to shot across the sky. Kramer, Landowsky, and Bob "Bobby" McCoy, were on the pier with minutes to spare.

"Where's Duke and that shit-head Doc?" wondered McCoy. McCoy had been transferred from the USS Van Voorhis, replacing Randy Ryan who had been discharged. The Mux's IC gang was short of help and like Bobby loved saying, "Howdy, my name is Bobby McCoy and I'm the real McCoy." He was a likeable guy with a thatch of unruly hair the color of orange bug juice. He’d grown up dirt poor in rural Alabama. Everyone in his family was good with a gun, including his momma.

Hopping off the gangplank, John "Duke" Adams announced, "Not too early for a drink, is it? Sun's over the yardarm someplace, one must respect nautical traditions."

"Piss off Duke!" grumbled Bobby.

"Better to be piss off than pissed on Bobby," replied Duke.

Duke Adams was a natural-born conversationalist - as a civilian. In the Navy, he was a top-notch bullshitter. Always talking, saying nothing. He was from the Southside of Chicago, incapable of being scared. He simply didn't have the scared gene. Looking over his shoulder, "Where's that kick-your-ass-around-the-block-for-drill Holliday?"

Before anyone could answer the petty officer of the watch yelled from the quarterdeck, "Hey Kramer! I forgot to tell you, Doc told me to tell you not to wait for him. He's already gone."

"When did he leave?" questioned Kramer.

"Right after I came on watch. Probably about 1615 or so."

"He didn't say where he was going did he?"

"Yea, I ask him why he was heading out without you guys. He said he had somewhere he needed to go and he'd catch up with you..."

Kramer cut in, "Damn it Joe, did he say where he was headed?"

"The Bull and Barrel. Do you know it?"

"Fuck me and the horse I road in on," yelled Duke. "That pussy mother fucker," added Kramer. "He's went to find that whore."

"Come on then guys, the beer is getting warm." Said McCoy, not understanding the concern the shown on the faces of Kramer and Landowsky. They started down the pier slowly, Kramer a step behind. "Damn Doc..."

The heat was dragged from the air by the sun sinking into the western sky. The sultry, vibey late-night jazzy hangouts with their low-key piano music and live jazz bands were coming awake. People were enjoying the rhythmical and romantic music played by traditional bands that seeped into the open-air spaces where partiers danced to the sound of live music. The party atmosphere was everywhere, many passers-by stopping to sing and clap to the sound of the music. Open air cafés, some with only four or five tables, were filled with locals watching the crowds, listening to the music, and watching people crowd into the old and lavish cabarets. Bobby and Duke, having never been to Rio before, were almost speechless. Their eyes the size of silver dollars.

Turning the corner, Kramer announced, "There it is guys."

Looking at the ground-level Bar Luiz, "Hey Kramer, this doesn't look like such a bad place. You had me worried on the ship." Said Duke.

"We ain't going in there Duke my boy, we’re going upstairs."

"Come on," added Landowsky.

Walking through the narrow doorway on the 2nd floor, Landowsky hollered, "Cappel you still sell the rot-gut local moonshine you call rum?"

There was a good crowd holding down the bar stools. The dim light danced over the dark oak beams as Cappel looked up from the bar. His deep blue eyes, clashing with his salt-and-pepper dreadlocks, twinkled with recognition. Several bar stools turned a quarter turn, thinking there might be trouble.

His face was all angles, like something a painter might draw, with a sharp nose, boney cheeks, and a sharp brow - the very definition of a hatchet face. He had that kind of beard you shave and an hour later it needs shaving again. The twinkle crawled to his mouth, showing a full set of perfectly white teeth. "Hello you candy asses! What've you been up to?"

"Cappel you ole' son-of-a-bitch, how's it hangin'?" said Kramer.

Cappel moved around the end of the bar and grabbed Kramer by the shoulders. Looked him square in the eyes, "Good to see you again my friend. It's been too long." Kramer gave him a bear hug, holding it for a moment.

Landowsky gripped Cappel's arm, "Hello partner. Damn, but it's good to see you!"

Returning the grip Cappel answered, "You’re lookin' good. I've missed you guys." Adding, "And who are these two fine outstanding additions to Uncle Sam's Navy?"

"This here is Bobby McCoy and John Adams."

"Just call me Duke," added Adams. "And don't listen to a damn thing Bobby tells you, cause it's all 100% Grade-A prime bullshit."

"Go piss up a rope, Duke."

"Couldn't you boys find a better pair of shitbirds to hang out with?" laughed Cappel.

Typical Bobby. "Well, if that doesn't make you want to shit in your flat hat nothin' will."

Glancing at the door, Cappel asked, "Where’s Doc?"

"Guys, go grab that table in the corner and order us a bottle of Cappel's special rum. Not that fire water from last year. You're in charge Landowsky," said Kramer. "I've got to talk with Cappel for a minute."

Together they walked to the end of the bar. Cappel poured both of them a shot. Kramer reached for his money, Cappel shook his head no. "About Doc," started Kramer. "I'm worried about'em Cappel."

"What happened?"

"He left the ship about an hour ahead of us headed for the Bull and Barrel. Shit man, he's going to try and find HER." Adding, "I don't know whether to go after him or just keep my noise out of it. I DO know I'm worried as hell."

"Listen DD, I like Doc to." Scratching his long chin with a long tapered finger, "Let me send one of my runners over to the Bull and check on him. No harm in us getting a status check right?"

"No."

"Go join your mates and I'll let you know when I know something. 10/4?"

"Thanks Cappel. I owe you one!"

Loyalty and camaraderie were their strengths, alcohol and idleness their ruin, if they'd let it. There was nothing like the surge of adventure that runs through your veins when the word is passed "Now station the special sea and anchor detail - all hands to quarters for entering port". Their work was hard, sometimes dangerous. The going rough at times, the parting from loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the 'all for one and one for all' philosophy of the sea was ever present. The serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's work, as flying fish flit across the wave tops and sunset gives way to night, knitted men together into a tight garment sown together with sweat, guts, and beer.

Kramer approached their table. "Your one behind DD," shouted Bobby, "pull up a chair!"

Cappel motioned to a man in the backroom. He had a lean, sharp-face that was tired, hard, and lined as if carved from dry wood and covered with steely, clipped and razored hair. His deep-set eyes were fierce and unblinking like those of a high-soaring bird of prey. Grey hair was swept back from his high forehead contrasting with a thick dark mustache and a bushy patch of hair beneath the center of his lips.

Kramer was having second thoughts. He was about to say something to Cappel when a triangle shaped shaft of late afternoon sunlight scurried across the floor towards their table as the door creaked opened. A sailor and a women strolled in.

Landowsky let out a low whistle, "will you look at that shit!" The other three looked up and around, paying absolutely no attention to the dress whites. Eight eyes drilled into her. Her dress was made of satin, the vertical black and white stripes of the fabric only served to accent her curves. She had dark flowing hair and sea blue eyes.

They had never seen such eyes. flashing bright as neon, shaped like 2 perfect almonds, they absorbed them. Her face was oval and deep brown like light chocolate, with high cheekbones and a long straight nose. She had the full generous lips of a runway model.

They approached their table, her pale breasts pumping as she caught her breath. Drilling had reached eight inches headed to her backbone when, with what could pass as a wicked smile, Doc said, "boys I'd like you to meet Sofia de Lurdes."

Virtually speechless, the managed a collective, "hi-ya". Feeling like idiots, Kramer managed, "Nice to meet you." Pausing. "Hey, Doc."

"Sofia, this here is John Kramer. And this is Lanny Landowsky. Bobby McCoy. Last but not least, Duke Adams," said Doc. "They're the ones I've been telling you about."

"Excuse please, my English, it not so good," breathed Sofia. "I am so glad to meet. Thank you for being friends to Walter."

Bobby leaned into Duke's ear, "when you look like that you don't need to know a fuckin' word of English in my book."

"That's a no-shitter!" muttered Duke.

"Bobby, grab those two chairs. Please, you guys join us. Doc, that OK?"

"Sure John, we'd like to," said Doc.

Cappel's joint had become a refuge. There they never felt lonely, yet always private. They drank his good stuff. The more they drank the better it tasted. The more they drank the better her English got. Theirs got worse. Behind the make-up, the hair and the eyes, they got the feeling there lurked a good woman that needed to find a good man to make her happy. The question, was that a good man sitting next to her drinking that night? Maybe. Just maybe...

The false dawn gave way to the rising orange arc of the sun that flared at the edge of the water like a distant sea battle just over the horizon. Bright sunlight, a sky full of fluffy clouds, and 322 visitors later the crew was dog-tired. It was hard work being nice for eight hours. Their faces hurt. Nobody on board spoke Portuguese and only a precious few of the visitors spoke...some...broken English. Thus the main mode of communication was smiling. Lots of smiling. They felt they'd attended a dentist's convention in Hoboken.

What'd the CO expect? The evidence of the stress from smiling for so long first appeared precisely at 0145 on the morning of 6 March, with the return of John "Smiley" Uzar. Uzar returned aboard by climbing over the side amidships, along with his partners in crime Larry "Mic" Ottino and Jim "The Schmuck" Shramek. The visitors had taken the worst toll on deck division. Even BM1 Dick Gill was UA for three hours. Gill, however, had the decency to cross the quarterdeck, saluting the OOD as he stumbled, falling onto the no-skid nose first.

Two hours later Johnny Ward and Andy Weckbacher were discovered attempting to come aboard on forward lines. Both men fled when placed under arrest by the OOD. Sobering slightly, Ward returned shortly after. The eastern horizon was turning the color of liberty ships left in the sun too long with faint tinges of a deeper gray at the water's edge. The quarterdeck watch thought they had experienced the worst. Not so. At 0715 Weckbacher returned, still drunk. Never a big fan of authority figures, he broke arrest, jumped over the lifeline and started running down the pier. He was apprehended by the CMAA and was brought aboard under physical restraint.

With all engineering plants up and running, it was time for the snipes to let off a little steam the same night. Fireman Robert Amador, BTFS Randy Smith, BTFS Ely "Corn" Cornish and EM2 Robert "Lemmon" Lemmons staggered back UA, singing a Brazilian love song they'd learned at a place called the Watchtower. They weren't singing for long, by 1630 Mullinnix had been visited by 1,153 Brazilians. 8 March set yet another record with 1,729 visitors.

With this many unassigned personnel on board exploring every passageway and compartment there was bound to be an incident or two. At 1645 RD2 Paul Durunda Jr, apprehended two Brazilian Nationals in the act of rifling the Admiral's cabin. When searched the duty officer found the Admiral's Remington 60 electric razor, and his 35mm Sennit camera. When asked if they spoke English they both claimed ignorance with the international response "No speaka gooda Englash." With a little pressure one of the men did admit, "Anda pay! Anda pay!"

"What the hell is he trying to tell us Durunda?" ordered the Lieutenant.

"Don't know sir. I can't understand a word of it."

As both were escorted off the ship by the port authority police, one 'Anda' Weckbacher flicked his smoke against the side of MT52, crushed the bouncing butt with his heel. Laughed and muttered, "assholes."

Before dawn on 9 March, Mullinnix commenced making preparations for getting underway at 0300...

_______________

Night was already showing itself on the main deck as the sun was nearly gone, but the mast was still burnished by the level sun. BM3 Jonathan Kramer hung over the lifeline starboard side of MT52, smoking. First he spat, then he expelled the remainder of the smoke from deep within his lungs and finally threw the tiny cigarette butt into the water, flicking it with his fingers.

"Hey John." Said Holliday.

"Hey yourself Doc. Where you been hidin'?"

"We had some equipment problems in sonar. We've been pushin' hard the last couple days."

"Fix it?"

"Finally. Ran the last of the test about an hour ago."

The sky above was somewhere between blue and black, it's uniform density threatened here and there by the suggestion of stars.

"Well, did you say goodbye?" questioned Kramer as he lit another smoke.

"Ya, we did." Said Doc. "You know John, I get out of this chicken shit outfit shortly after we get back to Norfolk."

"So."

Thinking. "John, Sophia is coming to Norfolk."

His cigarette almost spent, he took one last pull on it then flicked the butt into the sea. "Doc. Sounds like a plan to me."

Doc was relieved. He respected Kramer's opinion. They had been through a lot together. Always together. "I wanted you to know. AND, I wanted to thank you." Said Doc. "Thanks for being a good friend."

Smiling, Kramer answered, "No Doc, thank you. You made all this bearable."

Change isn't looking for friends. Change calls the tune we all dance to.

To be continued...


View of Rio From Top of Sugarloaf Mountain
(Recent Picture; Not from Mullinnix Crew)


Construction of Christ The Redeemer
(Not from Mullinnix Crew)

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