From the October 8, 2014 issue of The Journal
By Richard Harris
   As a young man in a time long, long ago and in places far, far away, I was a sailor.
   It seems like a lifetime ago. I suppose that's because it basically was. However, I recently watched a video that brought back so many memories that for a moment it seemed like only a few days had passed from when I first wrapped my fingers around the helm of the USS Fresno and thought, "I can't believe I'm steering a United States warship."
   The video showed the Fresno being destroyed in a training exercise. Most ships wind up as razor blades (or whatever they use old scraps of steel for), but the Frez went down in a blaze of glory.
   I was surprised at the amount of emotions that hit me. She was more than my ship. She was my home.
   She took me to ports on the other side of the world. She was my portal from teenager to manhood, from civilian to veteran.
   Aboard her this small-town country boy's world expanded exponentially.
   I met people from virtually every segment of society – and that would still be true even if I had never sailed into a single foreign port.
   As my buddy Hoss Peterson, a cowpoke from Wyoming, recently wrote, "We had California surfer dudes, Ohio milk truck drivers, New York scam artists, Texas drug dealers, Filipino runaways, kids from the mean streets of Detroit, an honor student from Georgia (his memory isn't perfect), and a former Mr. Teen Oklahoma. We were a melting pot of epic proportions."
   I'll never forget descending into the 1st Division berthing (living area) for the first time. There were tiny steel racks stacked three high down narrow isles which were full of the rowdiest bunch of guys imaginable. They had just pulled into Subic Bay, Philippines after an extended period away from port. I had been flown there to meet the ship and join the crew.
   They were changing from their uniforms into "civvies" as fast as they could while hooping and hollering. I looked at these crazy guys in the cramped living space and thought, "What in the world have I gotten myself into? I'm gonna have to live in this?"
   As my mouth hung open, Tim Hornfeck of Pittsburgh (who sported a tattoo of Wile E. Coyote clutching the Road Runner by the throat) walked up to me and said, "Welcome to the jungle."
   That steel jungle became my home and those guys quickly became my family – dysfunctional sure, but family nonetheless. We'd fight amongst ourselves at times, but let anyone else cross a crew member (good reason or not) and they'd find out how close-knit we were.
   In the words of great American poet Kenny Chesney, "You mess with one man, you got us all."
   That doesn't mean we were always the toughest guys. As my shipmate Dave Crigger recalled not too long ago, "Harris was never gonna be a bouncer, but thanks to us he got introduced to a few."
   Thus, one of the many valuable life lessons we learned: "There's always a badder dog."
   I'm not sure, however, if there ever was a "badder" ship. The Fresno was known as "Flexible Frez" because of her versatility. She was an LST (landing ship, tank) in the Pacific Amphibious Force. She had several very distinctive characteristics – above water and below.
   Long derrick arms extended from her bow. They were attached to huge cables that supported a ramp. Her bottom was basically flat, giving her the ability to sail until she literally ground to a halt at the beach. The ramp would then be extended and lowered to offload vehicles, etc.
   Her rear featured a stern gate that could be lowered into the water, allowing tanks and similar heavy-duty vehicles to exit.
   When it was time to bug out, we'd start to reel in the slack on the stern anchor, which had been strategically dropped in hopes that it would later catch and help us get off the beach. She also had a "bow thruster" screw near the front.
   The "Flexible Frez" moniker also reflected her ability to handle whatever was thrown at her, which included some mighty tough things. She served in Vietnam and was near the end of her active duty by the time I crossed her gangplank. The closest she got to combat in that era was slowly sailing back and forth along the coast of Burma (now Myanmar) in Southeast Asia awaiting a potential order to rescue fellow Americans caught up in the turmoil of the day.
   While her physical characteristics set her apart from every other ship, that wasn't always a good thing. She was also one of the slower ships in the fleet and had the nasty habit of getting tossed around in typhoons and storms that other ships simply outran. It was then that many a sailor cursed her flat bottom while simultaneously praising her ability to stay afloat when it seemed impossible.
   I've never been more scared in my entire life than when the rest of our task force stepped on the gas and left us alone to face one of those storms in the middle of the Pacific.
   I'm already getting longwinded with my trip down memory lane and most of my readers have probably already abandoned this column, so I won't try to describe it in detail. I'm not sure I could anyway. There were a number of times when she tilted so far to one side that she stopped rocking and basically sat on her side, giving the laws of physics time to figure out what she should do next – turn bottom up or right herself? When I was on the side of the ship nearest the water, I'd try to "stand light" and when I was on the side suspended in the air I would lean toward the sea, trying to give her a hand by shifting my weight. It sounds preposterous, I know, but it made sense at the time.
   And of course I prayed some of the most urgent and sincere prayers of my life. I'm sure you've heard that there are no atheists in foxholes. Well, I can testify to the fact that there are none aboard flat-bottomed ships doing 60 degree rolls either.
   We'd sometimes limp back into port with bubble gum and bailing wire holding her together. On the positive side, that meant going into dry-dock for repairs and having an extended stay in port.
   She was a tough old gal. The video of her destruction (which was shot from an airplane) shows her taking hit after hit, listing from one side to another until the smoke is so thick she disappears. When the smoke clears she reemerges, stubbornly bobbing up and down as if to say, "That all you got?"
   I imagine her in "Condition Zebra", wondering why her crew isn't patching her up after all she's done for them through the years.
   Then she slowly sinks, taking a piece of the hearts of many salty dawgs down with her. Davy Jones smiles and opens his locker to receive a most unique and precious treasure.
   "And when at length her course is run
   Her work from home and country done;
   Of all the souls that in her sailed,
   Let not one life in Thee have failed,
   But hear from heaven our sailor's cry and grant eternal life on high."
 – Navy Hymn