USS MULLINNIX DD-944

Tampico, Mexico 1958

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

At 1023 hours, Captain Fahle, USN, Alusna, Mexico came aboard for an official visit with the Captain Anderson. At 1055 the Commanding Officer and Captain Fahle left the ship to call officially on the US Consul to Mexico in Tampico, the Mayor of Tampico, the Commandant of Eighth Army District and the Commandant of the First Naval Zone.

Tampico is a port city located at the southeastern tip of the state of Tamaulipas along the Gulf of Mexico. It's one of Mexico's leading ports and oil-refining centers. Tampico itself lies in a marshy region where the Panuco River meets the Gulf of Mexico. Numerous small estuaries and several lakes, including Laguna de Chairel surround the city. South of town, the Puente Tampico (Tampico Bridge) crosses the Rio Panuco to Veracruz state.

Tampico is a fascinating town to wander about and explore. However, the beeline to cold beer and hot women found the crew passing everything from multi-national markets to small shops selling Huastec arts and crafts. For those mates from Louisiana, the old part of town had the feel of the New Orleans French Quarter. Plaza de la Libertad is a historic area surrounded by old colonial buildings. A block away was the Plaza de Armas, with its majestic City Hall guarded by lush palm trees. Other sites in Tampico included the Museum of Huasteca Culture and the cathedral built in 1823. Playa Miramar was a public beach popular with locals, therefore sailors.

Hibiscus, bougainvillea, orchids, and the luscious green leaves of the tropics were everywhere, including gigantic Ficus trees, with their aerial rots tangled in passionate embraces. Beneath these canopy shadows, the chirring of tree frogs was an oscillating chorus. Frogs with iridescent scarlet with black flecks, were called "poison dart frogs" by the locals. Roasted their skin secrets alkaloid poison that’s deadly-effective when arrows are dipped in it.

Chief Gunnersmate Taylor was a great bear of a man with a small head and an extraordinary round face lined with deep creases and crevices like a turnip. His bright penetrating eyes, beneath bushy eyebrows, shining as he remembered those far-away places as if they were yesterday, bored through you leaving you feeling naked. He was a by-the-book lifer than ran Gun Division with an iron fist. But on occasion, when the work was done, no matter the time of day he was known to surprise his gunners with, "Boys, the sun's over the yardarm somewhere, you think maybe it's time for a beer?"

Today was one of the those rare moments when Venus aligned with Mars and Gun Division was knocking off on liberty at 1400.

Taylor explained, "Don't you worry none, I'll square it with the Weapons Officer. Just don't leave the ship in mass, be smart about it, leave by ones and twos and nobody'll be the wiser. AND, don't do anything stupid while on the beach, understand? I don’t have to coming looking for any of you bastards in the morning! Got it?"

"Right Chief!"



Tampico has had a tram system since 1879. One line ran on a ten kilometer suburban line from city center to the beach, aptly called "Playa Miramar". The service consisted of a fleet of 8-wheel 15-window trams, all with arch roofs.

It didn't take the gunners long to uncover that tram-surfing was the fastest most efficient way to the beach as Playa Miramar was three miles from city center. Yesterday's clouds had scattered. The sun, well the sun was the sun. The palm trees were like scorched tin cutouts against it. As the train neared the bay, a sea plane's engines roar to life struggling to clear the water like a mechanized gooney bird. The tram glided passed a gray stone house that looked like it had grown organically from the surrounding rock.

The tide was in, and big rollers were breaking on the beach. As they descend from the tram at the beach station, they could smell the waves, full of seaweed as they burst onto the hot sand. The land side of the beach was shaded with casuarinas trees These hardy trees with no leaves as such, having many toothed sheaths instead. There woody fruit / nuts littered the ground. The grayish barked, close grained trucks stood sixty feet in height, appearing longitudinally cracked and corky in appearance. Sea birds flew low, wings kissing the water, their shadows in a race they would never win.

They had brought cutoff dungarees for swimsuits. Skinny dipping was for later when the sky was full of stars and bellies were full of beer. They piled their belongs into a make shift teepee of sorts, hiding wallets under the stack of clothes. As an unheard starters-gun exploded, they crashed through the breakers until they were chest-deep in the water, the beach behind them biscuit-colored and lined with palm trees and hotels that had fallen into decay.

Salt water can take a terrible toll on a sailor's thirst. After an hour of attempted drownings and water-wrestling it was time to find a cold one...or two. The sun looked tired, taking its time getting down in the west. They stood in the wind, sweet as a woman's kiss against the skin, to drip-dry. They gathered their belongs at started walking down the beach towards a palm-topped structure that just might be a sea-front bar.

Moments later they walked up to the entrance to the Cock and Pheasant. "The Cock" was an oasis of tranquility and sensory delight, as effectively isolated from the outside world and its concerns, as if by the eternal snows of high Kilimanjaro. The entire front opened to the sea, the place had a distinctly nautical flavor; a tarnished brass telescope; a barometer; a ship's clock and several framed photographs of fighting ships from unknown countries. It wasn't a clean bar, let alone well-lit, but there was rum, cold beer, women, a few drunks, and from their table the gunners could carry on watching the beach and its two-legged beauties.

GMG2 Harry Barnett bought the first round with Chief Taylor's bills. Taylor had told Barnett to insure the boys had a good time. Cutting the salt water with cold beer and cigarettes called for round two in short order. The sun sunk further, turning the ocean from a dark blue to more of a metallic hue. The waves smaller, shadows of the overhead wood fan flicked across Barnett's face, like clock hands out of control.

Round three. The bartender was a filthy sort. He had eye-boogers the size of walnuts and snot-balls in his uncut moustache. Round four. Time to think about eating. Round five. Time to eat. The gun crew chose a sampling of Tampico's cuisine, from red snapper and shark to crab stuffed with Mexican corn truffle to sea bass in vinegar-based marinade.

Round six. The black piano bench was empty. The ivory keys waited to be tickled. A man appeared from the back room. He had thick black eyebrows accenting an angular face the looked like it had been assembled out of spare parts - like ugly on an ape. Big gut and no ass, he strolled over to the keyboard, flexed his long fingers above the key board like a professional, sat, and started playing Cab Calloway's The Ghost of Smoky Joe.

Round seven. Toot toot toot Toot diddle-ee-ada-toot-diddle-ee-ada. The ape had a partner. Her gown was orange and one foot had a silver anklet. Her eyes dissected Barnett's face. Liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port, nothing better in the life of a sailorman. She sang and talked like a smoky-voiced angel. Her smoky gray eyes, gazing over the microphone, bore into Barnett's like two heat-seeking missiles on a collision course with his soul.

Round eight. The ape took a break. She gave Barnett another look, like something almost being said. The cultural and language gap that existed between them, made actual words nearly impossible. Yet it came as close to true feelings as they would get. She came over and sat down, smiled, took a long pull from his beer, smiled some more, said something in Spanish. She had a voice that made you want to order dessert.

Round nine. The ape was back. She went back to work.

GMG3 Paul Snodgrass leaned over to Barnett and slurred, "Who was that?"

"Ms. Right"

"Since When?"

"Okay, Ms. Right Now. Which would have been just fine."

"Barnett you are crazy man, nuts, just plane nuttier than a fruit cake!"

Round ten, eleven, twelve, baker's dozen. Barnett woke the following morning, alone, in his own rack, feeling as if he had swallowed a rug. Chief Taylor rolled around the next bunk and leaned into Barnett, "Gunny, thanks for bringing all the boys home in one piece. I appreciate it. Did they have fun? Gunny? You OK?

"Yo Chief. Uh, yah, they DID have a great time. They blew off most of that steam that had been buildin'. Thanks again for the doe Chief." Pause... "Hey Chief? You got any aspirin?"

"Hell no! Get your ass out of that rack and I'll buy you a cup of Navy coffee. NOW sailor!"

Liberty was over, back to the Navy.

_______________

Mullinnix received 2,363 visitors on 8 August and an additional 2,751 on the 9th. The crew continued to show that they were adept at making friends and extending the good wishes of the American People in every port.

Goodbye Tampico. So said the crew as tugs Tames and Panuco came alongside to port to assist Mullinnix in her departure to Boston, Massachusetts in accordance with COMDESLANT Modified Movement Order 20-58. The ship would spend most of the rest of 1958 in the shipyards during which time many modifications would be made to her original construction. At 0955 she passed Southern Breakwater Light abeam to starboard. Four minutes later the Special Sea and Anchor Detail was secured. State-side her we come!

Well, no so fast. At 1446 all engines were stopped, laying to off Tampico Breakwater, received fishing boat Almirante alongside to starboard to debark official guests.

To be continued...

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