The officer of the deck called from the quarterdeck to say that the men had all gotten to the main gate, which was equipped with turnstiles for security, at the same time. They were held up for fifteen minutes by the bottleneck or they would have gotten on board before the thunderstorm. Not a single sailor came on board after 1700, and by 1715 it was clear that every sailor of that more than three-thousand-man liberty party was back on board and accounted for. No one late, nobody missing ship.
By 1730 the eight base tugs had arrived and were making up their lines on Enterprise’s port side. The crew of the ammunition ship, which was moored astern, was on the pier to handle the carrier’s lines, ready to cast them off the bollards when called upon to do so.
By 1755 the Enterprise was singled up with all systems tested. As the sweep second hand passed by 1800 on the bridge clock, the last line was cast off. There was a single long blast on the ship’s whistle and the Enterprise was underway for the Gulf of Tonkin and back to war.
That evening at 2345, the ship, fully darkened, headed west toward the Gulf of Tonkin and Yankee Station, threading its way through the fleets of small native fishing craft. The midwatch arrived on the bridge, the young sailors who would man the helm and the engine-room telegraphs, operate the radars, and handle the communications until 0400. They chatted with the off-going watch about how much they had enjoyed their unexpected liberty. They were happy, and their shipmates in sections 1 and 2 were pleased for them.
We had done the right thing, showing the crew not only how much they deserved a break but also how much they were trusted. But the decision to grant liberty was made only after reassuring myself that it could be done safely and within the standard operating procedures.
The morale of the Enterprise’s crew had always been high, and it was events like this that demonstrated the officers’ concern for the welfare of the crew and our willingness to stretch a point and, perhaps, invite criticism in order to give the crew the breaks they deserved. It made the sailors believe that theirs was the finest carrier afloat. And they continuously made every effort to live up to that conviction.
The Enterprise had started out well. The message from commander, Seventh Fleet, Vice Adm. J. J. Hyland, congratulating the Enterprise after their first thirty days on the line in 1966, said, “Well done. I am very favorably impressed with the Big ‘E’s’ performance on your first tour on the line. Your effort of over 104 sorties on 26 April, 100 of which were attack sorties in North Vietnam, obviously represents the result of training, hard work, superior planning and esprit de corps. This record is far less a tribute to the advantages of nuclear power than to the organic fueled people serving in this fine ship.”
Only in the U.S. Navy could six thousand average American twenty year olds come on board the largest and most complex ship in history — with eight nuclear reactors and ninety-eight of the world’s most advanced aircraft — and in six months set records for combat operations that still stand.
12
The Enterprise
The Enterprise returned from Vietnam to San Francisco in late June 1966 to a real hero’s welcome. At that time the Enterprise had an impressive cachet. It was the largest ship in the world, it was the first and only nuclear carrier, and its eight reactors gave it a speed of more than forty miles an hour. Then, too, at that time the majority of the American people supported the war and believed we would win. The Bay Area had declared the day of return “Enterprise Day,” and on that day, any sailor with an Enterprise shoulder patch could get a free drink in most of the bars in San Francisco. There was a feeling of patriotism in the atmosphere. All three of the Bay Area’s main newspapers devoted their front pages on 21 June 1966 to the Enterprise’s return from Vietnam to its new homeport, Naval Air Station Alameda. The country was looking for a tangible hero to fuss over, and for now, the Enterprise was it.
One-inch headlines in the Oakland Tribune proclaimed, “Enterprise Home,” and the article beneath it declared that “this nation’s most powerful lady returned from war today, her nuclear power churning her through the Golden Gate as thousands of welcomers cheered her on.” The San Francisco Examiner’s front-page headlines stated, “Wild Greeting for Carrier.” The Enterprise, the article stated, “steamed through the Golden Gate with a fleet of more than 40 small craft — sailboats, yachts and fireboats spouting spray were on hand. . with Major John F. Shelly leading them.”
The San Francisco Chronicle also had a front-page picture of the Enterprise, and its one-inch headlines read, “Enterprise Homecoming Snarls Marin County Traffic.” Not only did two thousand people “line the sidewalks of the Golden Gate Bridge to watch the homecoming,” the article stated, but “traffic on Highway 101 was backed up from the Bridge to San Rafael [and] crowds gathered wherever they could get a view of the Bay. . All of the bridge’s parking lots were jammed and the overflow spilled into the Presidio and they too were quickly filled…. Despite the traffic there were amazingly no reports of accidents. They were moving too slow for anything to happen.” The Oakland Tribune summed it up: “The Enterprise, the largest warship in the world, had done her job. It is only fitting that her welcome should be the biggest in the Bay area since that accorded the battered cruiser San Francisco during World War II.” The homecoming was later written up in Life magazine, which displayed a picture of the Enterprise on its cover. The article also compared the attitude of the crowds as reminiscent of World War II, welcoming a heroic ship of the U.S. Navy home from the wars.
It was all very exciting. When the Enterprise came alongside the pier at Alameda, my wife Dabney was waiting with our two children, Admiral Rickover standing next to her. As soon as the first gangway was over, Admiral Rickover took off at a fast pace to be the first aboard. A chief petty officer stepped in front of him to block his way and sent Dabney aboard ahead of him. The chiefs knew their priorities. Or at least they knew those of the ship’s commanding officer. Surprisingly enough, Admiral Rickover was not at all upset. He was so thrilled by the Enterprise’s successful cruise that he was in an unshakable good humor. The combat experience of the Enterprise as the only nuclear-powered carrier had resulted in a great deal of ongoing press interest, and coverage had been universally favorable. Rickover felt that his proposed program for a fleet of nuclear-powered aircraft carriers had been given a powerful boost and that the tactical advantages of nuclear propulsion had been vindicated. He was probably right.
Dabney was brought up to the bridge, but I was still involved in getting the ship tied up. After a hug and a kiss, she said, “You’re busy, I’d better get out of your hair.” I replied, “Why don’t you go down to my cabin and I’ll meet you when the lines are doubled up.” Admiral Rickover had arrived with Dabney. He was bubbling over with the excitement of the homecoming. He congratulated me and then immediately launched into a discussion of how well the reactors had performed. He said his Naval Reactors staff had saved the day by coaching by satellite telephone the ship’s reactor department in making repairs on board to the number 7 reactor. He said no other organization could have accomplished that feat. I agreed with him and then added, “Admiral, I’m trying to get this ship tied up and I really can’t talk to you about those things now.”