St Patrick’s Day was never a big deal in Stonewall. In fact, if it hadn’t been for those old Warner Path-A Newsreels at the Main Theatre I might not have even known there was one. Or maybe it was my sister Sue giving me a pinch on St Patrick’s Day because I didn’t have any green on my shirt that reminded me. There were no St. Patrick’s Day Parades in Stonewall. Or even in the big city of Ada.

During my fouryear tour in the Navy, I spent a lot of time in the Orient. They didn’t have those big parades in Tokyo or in Hong Kong either but later I was transferred to the East Coast. Boy, there were lots of Irish there and for sure Boston and New York City believed in big Parades on St. Pattie’s Day.

It was more than a year later that my ship, The USS Johnnie Hutchins, had an at sea mishap. A seaman, drying his hawser lines on our way to Spain let the big rope get into the ship’s screws. Major damage. No Spain for us. It was eventually determined we were beyond repair. The little destroyer was relegated to being placed in mothballs.

We then took The USS Johnnie Hutchins down to a place called Bayonne, New Jersey and finally got her ready for mothballs. We held her decommissioning ceremony on a cold windy day on February 25, 1958. I was then transferred to Brooklyn Naval Receiving Station, housed in an old high-rise. It was adjacent to the shipyard. When I was interviewed there the officer told me that since I had so little time left to serve (my enlistment date ended in June of 1958) he was giving me an “early out.” If a person had less than 90 days to go, they usually just gave them an early discharge. It was something I thought was a good idea.

Soon afterward I heard my summons to report over the PA system. I reported and the Commander on the desk told me that I was needed for a temporary assignment to another rusty little destroyer. The ship was headed down on a trip to Caracas and then over to Barranquilla, Columbia. Then, in a few weeks when we returned then I would be mustered out. I was really sad to hear all this. The commander told me I had been selected because I had experience with that particular kind of vessel and because I was an ET-2. I was not flattered but as he ordered, I went up and packed my seabag.

The next morning, I reported as ordered. Didn’t see my guy. I was told to go down to the 4th floor and get in a line. I did, but I was disappointed and a little heart-sick at my fate. I shuffled with the others in line and soon knew this was not my line. When I asked an officer about this he more or less told me to get back in line, a line I soon discovered was filled with people getting their discharge that day. I just kept quiet. About noon found myself walking down a sidewalk carrying all my baggage. I was pretty sure they would discover sooner or later that I was being let out by mistake, but I was keeping silent and a stiff upper lip.

At this point two marines ambushed me. They make me stop and unload everything I had packed. Much to their disappointment, they found no contraband. I hadn’t stolen anything but now I found I couldn’t get all my stuff back into my seabag. I threw away my underwear so I could get my stuff back in the seabag and hasten my getaway. I thought if I could just get my car and head out, I would make it home. I did and then thought if I can make it to the Brooklyn Bridge, they’ll never get me back. I did. Then I hit Manhattan and was stopped by the cops. Well, I thought, they must have called ahead. I felt like a fugitive. But it was St Patrick’s day and yes, the big parade. After about two hours I made it to the Holland Tunnel. I understand the parade was a success without me and besides, my pretty wife to be, Pat, awaited me in Stonewall. We were married that July 19, 1958. St. Patties day 1958 turned out just fine for me.

Don’t forget church Sunday.

Wayne Bullard, DPh

cwaynebullard@gmail.com