Encounters at Balboa

 

 

 "For me, it was a very important stop on the journey from boyhood to manhood..."

This is an updated post from one I did two years ago. Of all the wonderful and profound experiences I had during my first hitch in the Navy, my time at Balboa Naval Hospital is probably the most memorable. I will never forget it.

As I grow older, I think back on the memorable and interesting times in my life. One of those times happened in 1969 when I was a patient at Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego. I was just a nineteen year old kid from Minnesota who had just entered the Navy.  I had no idea this short stay in this historic Naval hospital would create such an indelible change in me, thereby beginning the journey from boyhood to manhood. 

"Turn you head and cough" the doctor said to me when I was having my induction physical in Minneapolis. "Son, you have a hernia on your right side. Don't worry though - we will still take you under the MEDREP (medical repair) Program and fix it once we get you to San Diego". I did not even know what a hernia was. All I knew was this - because I needed this fixed, I was probably not going to have a normal experience in boot camp.

I arrived in San Diego in April of 1969. I was assigned to a "company" (a group of boots) and went about with my training. My Company Commander, a very large African American man named Chief Campbell, was aware my tenure with his company would be short. Depending upon scheduling, at any time the call could come in from Balboa. More boy than man, I was scared and apprehensive. I would be having an operation far from home and would not have friends nor family to support and visit me.

Just under a month into boot camp, the call came. When checking out of my company, Chief Campbell who for the past few weeks had ridden me hard (as he did the other boots), smiled and shook my hand. Knowing I was nervous he said "You will be fine son - it is one hell of a hospital". I was somewhat taken aback as I had never seen Chief Campbell smile - plus for the first time he talked to me like a person instead of a raw recruit. Feeling better, I picked up my sea bag, got into a transport, and headed off to Balboa.

Once I got to the hospital I checked in and was assigned to a ward. Not a private room, not a shared room, it was a ward with at least 40 beds in it. What shocked me the most was this ward was not just for men have surgery or recovering from being sick - most of the men in the ward were Marines recovering from combat wounds received in Viet Nam.

I had never seen combat nor the carnage it creates. Some of the men in the ward were very badly wounded or maimed. The man in the bed on my left had lost a leg; the man in the bed to my right was hit with napalm which was dropped too close to his position. He was so badly burned. His arms were curled up like used matchsticks. Here was a young man, barely older than me, with wounds so horrific his life would never be normal. Every day his parents or his young wife would be sitting by his bed, talking to him and encouraging him.

While being prepped for surgery, the doctor came in to talk to me. He was a good looking man and I saw he was a Lieutenant. He said "I will be the one doing the cutting today. Usually with boots we make the stitches large instead of small and neat like we do for officers". He smiled and winked. Still being scared of any rank with gold on it, I summoned up the courage to ask him a question. "Sir, I see your name is Kemp. You look quite a bit like the quarterback for the Buffalo Bills. Has anyone ever told you that?" He replied, "Jack Kemp is my older brother". I could not wait to get home on leave and tell my dad that Jack Kemp's brother did my surgery. In addition, I had not idea at that time my surgeon's older brother would be a huge hero figure to me in my adult life.

After my surgery was over and I was recovering, it did not take long before I was assigned to a "light duty" work detail at the hospital. The man who was the supervisor of the detail I was in was also recovering from wounds received in battle. He was a man I would never forget. His name was Sgt. Butler and he was a Marine through and through. He was almost done with his second tour in Viet Nam and was just itching to get back into the mix. In two tours, he had been wounded three times, and this was his second time at Balboa. He loved to pull his shirt up and show his stomach and chest - it looked like a busy road map as it had so many scars on it. He was an equal opportunity harasser - he harassed the boot Marines and the boot Sailors the with equal vigor. In addition, he had more sea stories and loved to tell them to whoever would listen. "I love Viet Nam. You squids don't know what you are missing not being over there. Hell, it is hunting season 365 days a year with no limit". He tried many times to convince me to quit the Navy and join the Corp. Every time I see the movie Platoon, I think of Sgt. Butler.The Tom Berringer character, (Staff Sgt. Barnes) and Sgt. Butler were similar as they were both Marines, both tough as nails, both wounded many times.

Before I was well enough to be transferred back to boot camp, two things of a major impact happened to me. First, I had a visitor. Chief Campbell had driven over to the hospital when he was off duty to check in on me. He took me to the Navy Exchange and we had a cup of coffee and talked. Here was the man who for the first month, had did nothing but yell at me, and was now talking to me like a friend. It then dawned on me - Chief Campbell yelled at us not because it was the way he was, it was because of what he did. His job was to accelerate the journey from boyhood to manhood so we could be ready to serve as sailors once released from boot camp.

The second thing that happened which was far more impactful. The Red Cross came into our ward to give the men presents and books. There were only five men in the ward who were recovering from non-combat related surgeries or illness - everyone else was recovering from battle wounds that ranged from serious to catastrophic. In my young life, I had never been so humbled. When the Red Cross lady came to my bed and asked the nature of my wounds, I asked her to go to the next bed as I was not wounded. I would not take a gift, I could not. I was not worthy to be in this ward and certainly not worthy to receive any gift from the Red Cross. The heroes I was surrounded by did deserve those gifts, and so very much more.  

I was discharged from Balboa and returned to Boot Camp. I was not allowed to finish with a regular company, so I was assigned to a hospital company to finish my training. I could not get my mind off of the people I met in that ward. The men who lost limbs, the man who was so horribly burned, the gunshot and shrapnel wounds, and of course, Sgt. Butler.

I finished Boot Camp, did my four years in the active Navy and then did seventeen more in the active Reserves. In all that time, I never saw combat. However, the experience I had in that hospital ward, to be with those young men, boys who had barely just become men, will stay with me always. As much as the term hero is thrown around these days, I have been honored to meet quite a few over the years. However, the Marines I met at Balboa were as brave as any hero I have met since. They were heroes all - Semper Fi...brothers, Semper Fi.