Military Years

Boot Camp at Great Lakes, Illinois

Arriving at Boot Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois, felt like stepping onto another planet. The change was immediate and jarring. One day I was in Scottsbluff, surrounded by the barrio and the familiar voices of family and friends, and the next I was standing in line with strangers, getting my head shaved, being issued uniforms, and learning to answer every command with a sharp “Aye Aye, sir!”

There was no easing into Navy life. The transition from civilian to sailor began the moment we stepped off the bus. Our identities were stripped down, and we were rebuilt, physically, mentally, and emotionally, into men who would serve something bigger than ourselves. Everything was fast-paced and orderly. You didn’t have time to question or hesitate. If you did, someone was yelling in your face.

Not long into boot camp, I was appointed company clerk, which came as a surprise. The role also came with the title of company petty officer, and it meant I had real responsibilities, keeping track of company paperwork, helping maintain order among the recruits, assisting the company commander, and acting as a liaison between the men and the officers. Suddenly, I wasn’t just another recruit. I was someone others turned to for guidance, answers, and example. It was intimidating, but also a confidence builder. For the first time, I started to see myself as a leader.

The days were long and intense. We rose before sunrise and went straight into physical training, followed by uniform and locker inspections, marching drills, and classroom instruction. I remember learning how to make a bed so tight you could bounce a quarter off the sheets, how to spit-shine my boots to a perfect gleam, and how to stand perfectly still while being inspected. Any mistake, no matter how small, meant extra push-ups, laps, or cleaning duty. We learned quickly that discipline was everything. You either adapted or you were left behind.

At first, I felt like an outsider. I was one of the few Latino recruits in my company, and I had never been so far from home. The accents, backgrounds, and attitudes of the other men were completely new to me. There were kids from New York, the Deep South, the Midwest, and the West Coast. But as we worked, sweated, and suffered together, the walls between us began to fall. We were no longer just a group of individuals; we were a unit. A brotherhood was forming, and for the first time, I felt a part of something greater than myself.

The Great Lakes Naval Training Center was designed to break down civilian habits and instill military precision. Every part of our training had a purpose. Among the key areas:

• We were drilled on Navy ranks, customs, and courtesies, and taught to follow the chain of command without question.
• Physical fitness was a constant. We ran, did calisthenics, and practiced coordinated marching in formation.
• Everyone had to pass a basic swim test. I wasn’t the strongest swimmer, so this was one of my tougher challenges, but I passed. We followed that with water survival training, how to float, how to save others, and how to survive if we ever found ourselves in open sea.
• We studied Naval history, learning about battles, heroes, and the core values of honor, courage, and commitment.
• We learned basic seamanship: knot-tying, navigation basics, and how to operate shipboard equipment.
• Damage control training taught us how to fight fires and respond to shipboard emergencies.
• We trained with small arms, including the M1 Garand and the .45-caliber pistol, learning how to handle, clean, and fire them with care and respect.
• As company clerk, I helped coordinate everything, from schedules to morale. I had to know who was struggling, who needed extra help, and who was stepping up.

As company clerk, I helped coordinate everything, from schedules to morale. I had to know who was struggling, who needed extra help, and who was stepping up.

Everything was scored and reviewed, how we walked, talked, stood at attention, folded our laundry. There were no shortcuts, and if you wanted to graduate, you had to prove yourself. Boot camp wasn’t just training, it was transformation.

Looking back, boot camp was where I truly became a man. I learned to push through pain, fear, and doubt. I learned to be accountable, and to earn respect. More than anything, I learned that I was capable of more than I had ever believed growing up in the barrio. The Navy didn’t just give me a job; it gave me a new identity.

Radar School

After graduation, I was given a well-earned two-week leave. I went home, proud and full of stories. My uniform fit perfectly, and my family could see the change in me. Even my father, who hadn’t been happy about me joining, showed pride in my accomplishment.

I was assigned to attend Radar School in Norfolk, Virginia, but just before I reported, my orders changed. The radar class was full, and I would have to wait twelve weeks for the next opening. Rather than delay, the Navy reassigned me to my first ship, the USS Everett F. Larson (DDR-830), and I was told to report to Newport, Rhode Island. Once aboard the ship, things moved quickly. We went to sea on a five-week training cruise to the Caribbean and South America. It was my first time truly experiencing the vastness of the ocean and life at sea. I remember standing on deck, watching the sun rise over open water, feeling the ship cut through waves, and knowing I was part of a global mission. After we returned to Newport, I finally received word that a new radar class was opening. My shipmate Henschel and I were sent back to school. Radar School was technical and demanding, but I did well. Learning to track enemy targets, read screens, and understand electronics was like learning a whole new language. After graduation, we rejoined the Larson, ready to serve with our new skills. On our arrival abord ship we would prepare for our deployment to the Mediterranean, this would be a verry busy and exciting time for us new Navy Boots.

Life at Sea

The USS Everett F. Larson was a sleek and powerful Gearing-class destroyer, 390 feet long and built for speed and agility. She was part of Destroyer Squadron 10, Division 102, assigned to the Atlantic Fleet.

She had a proud record, having served on seven Mediterranean tours with the 6th Fleet, participated in NATO exercises, and conducted antisubmarine warfare operations along the East Coast. She also trained extensively in the Caribbean and South America, always ready to respond to Cold War threats. I was so lucky to have visited some of the most historic sites in Europe. Italy, France, Greece and Spain just to name a few, it was an experience that I will never forget.

In February 1956, after our return from the Mediterranean, we sailed to New York Naval Shipyard for a full overhaul. I remember watching her stripped down and rebuilt, a reminder that even the strongest ships need maintenance and care. After the overhaul, we headed to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, for refresher training. Then we received new order, transfer to the Pacific Fleet. On June 28, 1956, we arrived in Long Beach, California, our new home port.

Now part of the Pacific Fleet, we trained off the coasts of California and Washington, preparing for deployment to the Far East. In 1957, we crossed the Pacific and served on patrol duty on the Formosa Straits, conducted exercises near Okinawa, and visited the Philippines, Okinawa, Formosa, Japan, China, Indonesia and some Islands and Atolls along the way. We also operated as escort and plane guard for aircraft carriers of Task Force 77, a critical part of naval aviation operations. That same year, the Larson was awarded multiple honors: - Engineering and Damage Control Efficiency Award - Anti-Submarine Warfare “E” - Operations “E”. I was proud to serve on such a distinguished ship. The crew was tight-knit, professional, and driven. I had grown into my role and was respected. I wasn’t the uncertain recruit from Scottsbluff anymore; I was a sailor.

In November 1957, I received temporary duty orders to serve aboard the USS Columbus (CA-74) as part of Cruiser Division 3 flag staff. It was a different experience, larger ship, different pace, but I handled my duties with the same pride and dedication. When I returned to the Larson, I was presented with a choice: would I like to accept an early separation from active duty? I had completed my obligation, and the opportunity to transition back to civilian life was there. After some thought, I said yes. On December 17, 1957, I was officially separated at Long Beach Naval Station. I was no longer a sailor; I was a civilian once again. But I was changed. The Navy had given me direction, pride, and a belief in my own potential. It was the end of one journey and the beginning of another.