Oh Hear Us When We Cry to Thee For Those in Peril on the Sea

USS JOHN F. KENNEDY. a 183-ton attack carrier with a task force of 90 planes and a crew of 5,200, pulled into South Boston harbor last Tuesday for two days before departing on a nine-month cruise.

KENNEDY is going to Vietnam and its last port stop in Boston was a very big deal. The Globe covered it very nicely. The front page featured a large photo of the ship gliding smoothly into the harbor, the sun just that soft sparkle off the water and freshly-painted hull: the glory of life at sea! The crew member they interviewed was pictured on the pier with the carrier behind him, he smiled and was quoted as saying, "Looks pretty good to me."

Why do they always interview the brainwashed? Why didn't they ask Harry Lehman-a 22-year-old Californian who for the past year and a half has been seeking discharge as a CO-what he thinks of life on the ship and high seas? Why didn't they talk to some of the young blacks who have tried to organize against the oppression they face daily at the hands of white racist officers and chiefs and petty officers? (The Captain of KENNEDY is from Virginia, the Executive Officer from Mississippi.)

But they never do and it doesn't really matter. Very little does. When you are 17 or 18 and have four years in the Service ahead of you, you just "don't make waves." Wars may take place and you may help sail the ship that launches the planes that fire the bombs, but the real war takes place every day between you and the people a rank above you. And, as in any war, the goals are to win-to get six hours of sleep or eat three meals or to make it off ship when you can-or to salvage something, at least to come away some part of the person you once were.

LAST WEEK, those who escaped the maze of cheap waterfront bars and pathetic serviceman clubs in South Boston, some of the older, "educated" enlisted men who made it across the Charles into Cambridge and liberated territory, roamed the Square and Commons in search of the people they knew would sympathize with their situation and help-by one means or another-ease the pain of their down existence.

The others, the younger kids from small upstate and Midwestern towns, and the "lifers," the 30 and 40-year-old professional sailors for whom the Navy means beer and tattoos and the swaggering, adventurous, illusory life of men of the sea-the others continued where they left off last port. Wherever it was they were, whatever it was they did.

"Sailor." The word comes across like "freak." or "nigger"-"The only possible advantage in being a sailor," said Seaman Fred Eder, "is that it's maybe the only way a white can experience something of what it's like being black. In uniform, you're a marked dude. You're prey to all sorts of people trying to fuck you out of a dollar or your watch or your sanity for Christ sake. You can't eat in a good restaurant, no decent-looking chick will talk to you. Man, you find yourself on even ground with all the other outsiders-winos, whores, queers, hustlers, all the waterfront freaks. What a fucking slap in the face to your manhood!"

THE UNITED STATES NAVY is one of the more respectable ways of serving your country. "Anybody with any self-respect would spend his four years in the Navy in a closet," says Third Class Lary Dinger, a Michigan State graduate with a Master's Degree in history.

It is also one of the safer ways to go to Vietnam. KENNEDY will cruise between 75 and 150 miles off the coast, and only the pilots will get to see the country. For the rest of the crew. Vietnam is just another port, with $56 extra a month as hazardous duty pay and stops on the way in Rio de Janiero and Tokyo, where the buys on cameras and women and dope and stereo equipment are really fantastic. And all of that is very good for forgetting about war and even, for awhile, about the Navy.

"All you seasick sailors they are rowing home," wrote Dylan. The 5,000 sailors on KENNEDY are very seasick, but they're rowing the other way.

( The author served aboard the KENNEDY as an enlisted man. )