Admiral's Starched Underwear

The Admiral’s Starched Underwear

I served aboard the USS Truxtun DLGN 35 during the Viet Nam war. The N following DLG stood for nuclear. The Truxtun was a nuclear powered guided missile frigate. She was the fleet’s flag ship. We carried the fleet’s admiral. And because we carried the admiral, the ship was so clean that one could eat off of the deck without worry.

Chief Stanford, my immediate supervisor, and I had not been getting along. He had no problem with my work. I did my job well. He did not like my non-military attitude. In his effort to “correct” my attitude he gave me the honor of being assigned as a Side Boy. “It is an honor to be selected,” he told me. “The effort to polish your chrome helmet, your rifle, your belt buckle and your shoes is a small price to pay for the honor and benefits.”

Being a Side Boy was an enviable assignment on some other ships. Some admirals took their Side Boys with them to special events. But not our admiral. He only used us for decoration whenever he came on board or whenever he was expecting guests. He didn’t take us anywhere.

Each time the admiral left the ship or returned, his Side Boys would stop whatever they were doing. They would rush to their berthing compartments, don their dress blues or dress whites, depending on weather and location, put on their chrome helmets, grab their rifles and assemble themselves, in formation, on the main deck on both sides of the gang plank. As the admiral approached his Side Boys they would stand at attention, salute and wait for the admiral to walk past them and return their salute before dropping their hands. After the admiral boarded the ship and walked through his Side Boys, the Side Boys would return to their berthing compartments, put away their dress uniforms, rifles and chrome helmets, change back into their working uniforms and return to work. During our free time in the evenings, when we were not at battle station or on our underway watch, we polished our shoes, chrome helmets and rifles while our shipmates watched movies, listened to music, played cards, basketball, or chatted. I was grateful that the admiral spent most of his time at the Subic Bay Naval Base in the Philippines.

One hot and muggy Viet Nam afternoon, as we sailed the Tonkin Gulf between the shoreline and the aircraft carriers, Chief Stanford told me to report to the laundry for a temporary transfer.

“Does this mean that I am no longer a Side Boy?” I asked.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t deprive you of that honor,” he said with a sneer. “They will assign you a rack in their berthing compartment. Make sure that you take all of your stuff.”

This came as a surprise to me. Chief Stanford was a stickler for the rules. Naval regulations required that all non-rated enlisted personnel, those who had not graduated from a technical school, would be temporarily transferred to either the kitchen or the laundry before any rated personnel.  I had graduated from Hull Maintenance Technician school and was therefore rated. There were always a few of my fellow shipmates in our unit that had recently arrived from boot camp and were not technical school graduates.

I did not complain. I chose, instead, to wait and see. If I did not like working in the laundry, I would put my complaint in writing and Chief Stanford would have to send someone else from the repair gang to work in the laundry. I considered the possibility that working in the laundry might be better than working for Chief Stanford.

As it turned out, working in the laundry took a lot more physical effort than I had imagined. Heavy laundry bags, weighing fifty to seventy five pounds had to be emptied and their contents put into the washing machines. Pulling wet laundry out of the machines and putting them into the dryers was harder. Sweat poured out of every pore in my body while I washed the clothes and ironed the officers’ uniforms. I shrank down from 150 to 125 pounds.

Each day that we finished with all of the laundry we were allowed to enjoy the rest of the time as we wished. When I worked in the repair gang, I had to look busy when there was no work to be done. Chief Stanford told us to carry a wrench and a rag and to walk from one repair locker to the next. He did not allow us to relax if we finished our work before 16:00.

We sailed away from Viet Nam and returned to Subic Bay to pick up the admiral. We were going to do battle and fire our rockets. The admiral wanted to be on board during that exercise.

While everyone else disembarked to enjoy some beer and the ladies of the evening in Alongapo City, the other Side Boys and I readied ourselves for the arrival of the admiral. He boarded the ship. We were told to wait, he wouldn’t be long. An hour passed before he disembarked. We were told, that if we did not have duty that we could go into town, if we wished.

The following morning, we sailed back to Viet Nam. The admiral’s steward came down to the laundry and asked us to wash the admiral’s clothes separately from everyone else’s. He told us that the admiral’s uniforms needed to be pressed perfectly, with no extraneous wrinkles. He handed us a laundry bag and told us to make sure that we starched and pressed the admiral’s skivvies.

“You can’t be serious?” I asked. “Who in their right mind would want starched and pressed underwear in this hot and humid weather?”

“It has to be done,” he said and walked away.

Lieutenant Jasper, the head of Supply and Laundry Division told him that it would get done. He turned in my direction.

I shook my head. “Don’t expect me to starch and press the admiral’s skivvies. You know how I feel about folding another grown man’s underwear. My mother stopped folding mine when I was a little kid. The admiral is old enough to fold his own.”

Lieutenant Jasper rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to ask you.”

“I think that his steward is trying to impress him,” I said. “And take the credit for the work that we do.”

“That is certainly possible.”

“And doesn’t it strike you as odd that the admiral would want his underpants starched and pressed?”

“I don’t know what his reasons are. But if his steward tells us to press his skivvies, who are we to argue.”

“It’s so hot and muggy here; I wish I could wear shorts. I certainly wouldn’t want to wear starched skivvies. What if his steward is being passive aggressive?”

“Drop it, Mushroom. I’m not making you press his skivvies. It’s not for us to ask admirals why they want starched underwear.”

A week passed in which the rockets had been launched and the admiral was satisfied. I saw him talking to the executive officer in an exterior passageway. They blocked my access to the bow. I waited. The admiral saw me first and moved to the side. I took one step forward.

“Good evening, sir. May I ask you a personal question?”

The admiral looked at me. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

The executive officer answered for me. “He’s one of your Side Boys, Sir.”

“Oh, of course,” the admiral said and cleared his throat. “What is your question?”

“Do you really want your skivvies starched and pressed? Sir.”

The admiral blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“Your steward came down to the laundry, where I am working temporarily, and he told us that you wanted your skivvies starched and pressed. I think that he is trying to impress you. But with it being so hot and humid, I wouldn’t want my underwear to be starched.”

The executive officer backed around behind the admiral. He put his hands up to get my attention and he silently mouthed, “What the hell are you doing?”

The admiral looked out at the ocean and then turned back to me. “You’re right. The starched underwear is uncomfortable. I thought that you guys starched all of the officers’ underwear out of routine.”

I shook my head. “No, sir. That would be cruel to do in this climate. You might want to talk to your steward about what he requests for you.”

The admiral smiled and said, “I will. Good night.”

The executive officer standing behind the admiral motioned forcibly with his hand for me to leave.

“Good night, sirs,” I said and continued my walk to the bow.

I bet the admiral never had anyone ask him a question like that, I thought.

The following morning, Lieutenant Jasper told me that the executive officer wanted to see me in his office.

I knocked on the executive officer’s door. He opened it and invited me in.

“Take a seat,” he said, pointing to the gray padded chair next to his desk.

I sat down.

“What possessed you to ask the admiral about his underwear?”

I looked down at the deck and pondered what I could say without getting myself further in trouble. I picked my head back up and looked at him. “You can’t ask him that question. You’re an officer.”

“Yes, and I know well enough not to ask an admiral a question that is that personal.”

The executive officer looked like he was biting his lip. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or if he was suppressing a laugh.

“As for me, I’m a low ranking enlisted man. I was just trying to be kind. I think that his steward is using us to be mean to the admiral. I wanted to know if it was the admiral who wanted his underwear starched and pressed or his steward.”

The executive officer smiled. “You’ve got some big balls. Turn in the chrome helmet to the head of the Side Boys. The admiral asked me to relieve you of that duty.”

Even though the admiral might have been grateful, he wouldn’t have a Side Boy who knew something so personal.