Steven W. Petersen, CTM2, 1966-1972
 
It has been a delight to read of other's experiences on becoming CT's,
and the further mis/adventures associated with that profession.
 
After 2 years of lackluster effort and realizing that my enthusiasm for
college was waning, I intuited my S-2 deferment was about to change to
1-A (my GPA was skidding towards 2.0 in a rapid retreat).  I made a
visit to the Navy recruiter in early July, 1966.  Reasons for the Navy
interest- 1) I don't like green clothes without or with bullet holes; 2)
I had taken Zoomy ROTC for a semester, and found the guys there had
minds filled mostly with air (plus it was the only college course I had
flat flunked which I figured would not look good in an enlistment
resume); 3) as for the marines, there is just no excuse for being that
dumb.  So the Navy it was, or so I hoped.  Fortunately the recruiter
said we can take you if you're willing to wait 120 days.  Ok, that's
easy.  A slight accident during my interim employment delayed the
induction date another 2 months.  At the induction physical just prior
to taking the oath the doctor looked at my feet and told me that since I
was so flat-footed I could be exempt from all military service.  That
was a temptation for about 10 seconds.  My life wasn't exactly on a
positive roll, and making concrete construction grunt work a career
didn't look particularly rewarding.  Color me in.
 
I left the plains of Nebraska for the intriguing coastal state of
California - boot camp at RTC San Diego.  And it went ok.  Our CC was an
old hand at being a boot commander.  ABM-1 Burris was a good leader and
we busted ass to do it right.  It worked (in spite of my being
educational petty officer of company I-45) we were selected as The
Brigade Company of our graduating class.  During the 5th week we were
subjected to the ACT-GRI assault and battery of tests.  By the time the
last section (clerical) rolled around, I was mentally spent.  A week or
so later when we had our 15 minutes with the counselor, I was greeted
with "well want do you want to do with your life son?"  What's
available, I ask?  "Well it looks like you are qualified to strike for
anything, let's see except yeoman or personnel man.  With 2 years of
college you should get an "A" school after boot, and be an E-3 striker."
I asked what would be a good career choice for life after the Navy, and
he responded that given my math and science scores striking for an ET
billet could give me a good opportunity to land a decent job after
discharge.  Or since my FLAT score was high (34 of the 37 I answered), I
might consider being an interpreter.  So those were numbers 1 & 2 on my
list, and I also included Fire Control Tech, and I'm not sure what else.
Nukey Eng Tech was not an option, for I have claustrophobia and sewer
pipes are not a good place for that mental state.
 
After boot it was back to Diego for BEEP school, and 7 weeks later off
to Treasure Island for Electronic A-school.  During the summer of 1967,
Flower Power was in full bloom in San Francisco.  That was certainly a
heady place to be.  There were distractions and temptations everywhere,
and it was difficult to keep one's feet on the ground.  But, fear is a
great motivator, and I was in no mood to jeopardize my future at this
point (was I serious or what?).  Somewhere in this time span an Army
recruiter/used helo salesman tried to con some us to join their Warrant
Officer Program and become helicopter pilots.  It seems that in the fall
of 1967 there was a need to increase chopper pilot numbers due to a
ramp-up of that little ol' conflict in the jungle across the pond.  Uh,
I figured I'd pass on that one.  Then along comes this suave chief with
his "hey lad, I've got one for you, and it's called a CT-M billet.
Can't say what it's all about, you know secret and all that, but there's
an 85% chance you'll be stationed ashore."  Since I had been a
dry-lander all my days up until that one, it sounded quite inviting. .
The part about the clearance was a mystery, but didn't sound too
intimidating, so what the hey.  Poof, with a stroke I went from a
wannabe ET-C to CT-M, and since CT is closer to the front of the
alphabet than ET, it must be good idea.  A-school was a challenge, yet I
enjoyed learning theory, the technical and practical aspects of working
on electronic gear, and the discipline of putting it all together in
maintenance of same.  A couple of months before graduation from A-school
I received the promotion to PO-3.  I then received orders for "C" school
at NSA HQ, and in February of '68 it was off to Ft Meade for 8 weeks of
training on mag recorder maintenance.  I found NSA to be just a bit
intimidating if not too starchy for my tastes.  Of course during this
period we had to do our dream sheet of preferred duty stations.  One
consequence of being in a boot brigade company was that we were promised
our first choice of duty station if there was available billet opening
where we chose.  The allure of going to Europe versus that of going to
Asia was pretty compelling, so I opted for Germany and voila towards the
end of the 8 weeks I received orders for Todendorf.  I arrived in
Germany in May of '68.
 
What a stroke of luck that was.  The scuttlebutt was that the Tod (as we
called it) was a forlorn outpost in the hinterlands of West Germany, and
that it was in the crosshairs of Ivan the Terrible should there be a
land grab by him or his proxies.  The US Army had deserted this outpost
in '64, and it had only become a NSG Activity in July of '67.  We were
somewhat isolated in that "dead village" and had to send a truck down to
Bremerhaven each week to pick up supplies for the exchange and chow
hall.  The isolation/remoteness actually helped to create the ties that
bound us into pretty cohesive unit.  The personnel assigned to the Tod
during the period 5/68 thru 5/70 received the Naval Unit Commendation
award for exceptional meritorious service.  Once again I had the good
fortune to be associated with dedicated and professional shipmates.  The
chow there was the best I had in the Navy.  As others have said, the
tour of duty at the Tod was the highlight of my short naval career.  Oh
yeah, the liberty was top notch too.  I think the source for the
scuttlebutt stemmed from some of the conditions our predecessors had to
endure, especially while it was under the command of the Army Provost
Marshall (they had to wear ties and sports jackets while on liberty -
yuk!).  Fall of '69 I received the promotion to PO-2.
 
I received orders for "the Rock", Adak, AK, and departed the Tod in
5/70.  One could say that things went downhill from that date.  Adak is
definitely isolated and remote.  The saying goes, one develops a 10,000
ft stare in a 10 ft cubicle on the Rock.  Also in the average year one
sees the sun for about 7-10 days in 365.  Sadly, that's all true and I
can attest to that veracity.  And the winds, well the place isn't called
"The birthplace of the Winds" because of a zephyr or two once in a
while.  Those winds howled.  One night on a midwatch I was attempting to
walk from the emergency generator shed back to the ops building after
the wind had knocked down the power line and I brought the generator on
line, and during one step my foot came down about 8 ft from where I
expected it to.  Down I went on all fours, and I crawled the remainder
of the distance to the spaces.  Somewhere out there in that inky
blackness was the cold lagoon, and I hadn't filed a flight plan for that
night.   I did learn some things about myself during my year's tour on
the Rock.  Introspection leads to self discovery, and one had time for a
lot of that on the Rock.  The fresh air was not fully appreciated, until
my next duty station.
 
That happened to be Imperial Beach, CA.  I went there, and not to any of
my 3 dream sheet choices, in July of '71.  The gods can be so fickle
with humans.  I started in San Diego, and now I was back.  At the Tod
there were 130 of us Amis and a few Germans; at the Rock there were a
few hundred of us sand crabs and a several Bald Eagles; and at IB there
were several of us squids and millions of Californians!  I was
overwhelmed by the crush of humanity, all goin' a hundred miles an hour
to some place other than where they were to have enormous fun.  Yikes, I
found myself in a situation similar to that of the animals confined in
the famous zoo there - surrounded by people and fences.  The HFDF site
was aptly nicknamed the Dinosaur Cage, and it felt like a cage to me.
This whole scenario was cruel punishment for someone with
claustrophobia.  I guess in the previous 3 yrs I had adapted to
remoteness more than I realized.  Did I forget to mention the smog and
hot Santa Anas?   It was all I could do until I was discharged in Dec of
'72, to stay sane and not jump ship.  Being a CT-M was challenging and
rewarding, but being in the Navy left some things to be desired.  No
regrets, and no tears goodbye.