SPLASH ON THE SCREEN
Jack Scribe
Part 9, DON’T ASK, DON’T TELL
From Part 8,
“Bob, you’re a prompt dude, Sir,” I said, with a laugh, noticing
the clock registering 1502.
~~~ “It didn’t take too long to find out what’s happening. Mike,
what I’m going to tell you is confidential, but I trust you not to gossip.”
“Absolutely.”
~~~ “O.N.I. is basically investigating some allegations of
homosexual activity aboard the Stennis. It’s my understanding that six men are
involved, and the investigation is primarily on background, at this point. From
what I gather, the C.O. of the Stennis isn’t very gay friendly and considers
Clinton an enemy.”
“Well, I guess my neighborhood isn’t involved. I appreciate the
info, Bob.” I didn’t want to seem to be concerned. Inwardly, I was seething at
what appeared to be a classic, homophobic, hateful witch-hunt. ‘What had Dave
gotten himself into?’ I wondered.
~~~ “No problem. See you at happy hour, Friday?”
“Yep. I’ll spring for a few. Take care.” I rested the receiver on
the telephone cradle and pondered the next move. There was nothing I could do
until Dave returned next Monday morning. I’d still alert Tom to what was
happening at dinner. What ever happened to don’t ask, don’t tell?
Tom and I arrived at Hamburger Mary’s on West University at the
same time, just before seven. Because there was a chill in the air, we opted
for a table inside, ordered two beers and a couple of Maryburgers, medium-rare,
from a very friendly, cute waiter in a tight, uniform tee shirt and faded,
body-hugging jeans. The beers were immediately served. The server was a little
brazen by casually pushing his well-formed crotch against the table edge.
‘Probably angling for a better tip,’ I sardonically reasoned, smiling at him,
‘Or, tipping for a better angle?’
“I was really worried after we spoke this morning, Mike. Did you
find out anything?” I noticed that Tom had momentarily focused on this young
man’s bulge on the corner of the table. Tom winked and shrugged.
“Horny little devil, aren’t you?” I asked with a grin when the
waiter left the table.
“Just window shopping. We’re definitely married guys.” Tom leaned
into the table and quietly asked, “Seriously, is there any scoop?”
“From what I was able to learn, it sounds like the commanding
officer on the Stennis is on some sort of witch hunt concerning some gay
sailors or airmen on his ship. That’s
all I can figure out. Dave was completely baffled when I pointed out the car
that had been following him.”
“He didn’t know of anything that might draw suspicion to him?”
“No. I mean, he’s mentioned knowing a few guys on board that he’s
pretty sure are gay. Kind of a ‘wink-wink, I know’ thing between them. And
we’re completely monogamous.” ‘I think we are,’ I pondered, for a few moments.
‘Naw,’ we are. I trust my Dave.” He would have mentioned the occasional urge to
‘get off’ with a friend on the ship.
“What a shitty situation. Mark told me that he’d keep his eyes
open on the Kennedy this week. Maybe we can compare notes when they both get
back?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to get paranoid about this, but I feel a
defense mode kicking in. I’ve still got a year to go in this man’s Navy. Any
ideas if this goes any further?”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll call Dad. If there’s a violation of the
‘don’t ask’ policy by the Navy, he’d really like to know,” Tom said, as the
waiter served the burgers and our sides of slaw.
“You’d get your dad involved?”
“For my close friends, absolutely. Dad has a law degree and is
pretty tight in D.C.”
“Let me get any info when Dave gets back. I don’t want to hit the
panic button…yet.” We backed away from any further discussion and finished out
dinner. It was country western night at Hamburger Mary’s, so we ordered two
more beers and humorously attempted the two-step a couple of times before
leaving around nine.
*****
DAVE
The maneuvers went off without a hitch. I was pretty busy in the
tech command center that monitored all radar and sonar activity. My mainframe
computer controlled the programmed ‘enemy’ sorties that the other two carriers
and destroyer groups monitored for evasive action while the fighter squadrons
scrambled into attack mode.
I thought it strange that I hadn’t seen Carson Perry on this
exercise. He was an Aviation Machinist's Mate
with the combat aircrew men and usually broke for lunch or
dinner about the same time as I did. We became casual acquaintances with the
possibility of a good friendship developing. My gaydar had been set off the
first meeting with Carson. His expressions varied on a theme of subtle
mischievous leers when he spoke. Neither of us said anything. It was just a gut
reaction I had about this friggin’ hot guy.
Sunday, after attending early church services in the forward
hangar deck, I returned to my bunk for a little naptime before the mid-watch.
In that the ship was due to berth back at North Island around 1600, the last operations
watch would be a short, three-hour duty from noon to 1500. Before I had a
chance to strip down to my skivvies, a runner told me to report to my
department head immediately. ‘Wonder what this shit’s all about?’ I thought.
I immediately went to Lt. Howard Bono’s stateroom and knocked on
the outer bulkhead. “Airman Swenson, reporting as ordered, Sir,” I said,
standing at attention.
“Swenson…come in, and close the hatch.” Mr. Bono was a ‘mustang’
officer. He had come up through the enlisted ranks and was scheduled to retire
next year.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, entering his small space and closing the
hatch.
“Sit.” I nodded and complied.
“I’ll get right to the point. Do you know a Carson Perry?” he
asked with a raised eyebrow and cocked head.
“Yes, Sir. We’re not close, but I consider him a friend. Why, Mr.
Bono, are you asking? Has something happened to Carson?” My eyes widened and I
felt my gut tightening as I prepared for the worst.
“As a matter of fact, Perry has been relieved of his duties.
Information has been received that Perry is a homo…sexual, and the ‘old man’ is
concerned that this is just the tip of an ugly iceberg. Do I make myself clear,
Swenson?”
“Um, not exactly. What does this have to do with me?” I was
becoming very puzzled and concerned by the direction of this conversation.
“You, along with several others, seem to hang out together. Looks
pretty suspicious,” he replied very sternly.
“Sir, because I know Carson Perry and have lunch or dinner with
him makes me part of a homosexual group of sailors? This doesn’t make sense.”
‘Okay, Dave,’ I thought, with growing alarm. ‘Time to be very careful what I
say.’
“We’ve been watching you. You visit a house in the gay part of
town and have gay friends. Looks pretty suspicious to us, Swenson.”
“Mr. Bono, Sir, I really don’t want to answer any more questions
without legal advice.” With that said, Lt. Bono slammed his hand on the desk
and I jerked back in relflex.
“You’re not a fucking civilian, Swenson. I’m confining you to
quarters until we get to the bottom of this. You disgust me. Any shore leave is
cancelled.”
“But, Sir…”
“Stand up and salute me. You’re dismissed,” Bono said, cutting me
off.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied, with urgency, as I stood and braced myself
with a smart salute. ‘You fucking homophobic asshole,’ I thought, as I did a
180 and left the office. My stomach was in overdrive, my heart was pumping at
an accelerated rate, and my mind was focusing on a road of no return.
Returning to my bunk, I noticed a few other guys I was friendly
with talking about getting back to their wives and girlfriends. After a brief
wave, I went to my berthing compartment and quickly found my stationery. I
urgently dashed off a note to Mike and sealed it in an envelope addressed to
the attention of ‘Ltjg. M. Cole, Officer’s Club’, marked ‘urgent’. One of my
buddies came over in my direction and he started talking about the week ahead.
The crew would be off three days before returning.
“Sam, I’ve got a problem that I need help with,” I said with quiet
sincerity.
“Dave, whazzup, my man?”
“I’ve drawn some shit detail that’s going to keep me on the ship.
The problem is that I’m scheduled for a part time job at the officer’s club
tomorrow and can’t contact the club officer by phone. Would you do me a big favor
and deliver this message to the reception desk at the club? It’s really
important. I don’t want to screw up on this gig.”
“Hell, yes, Dave. It’s maybe five minutes out of my way.”
“Whoever gets this envelope needs to understand that they should
call Ltjg. Cole as soon as they receive this,” I said, nodding my head with
urgency.
“Wow, must be important.”
“Yeah, the job means tuition money for school next year. It’s kind
of a safety net for when I get out.”
“Dave, leave it to me. In the meantime, I hope the extra detail
works out okay.”
“Thanks, buddy,” I replied, seeing him join the other guys as they
prepared to go ashore. ‘What deep doo-doo had I stepped in?’ I wondered. Bono’s
attitude was creating deep resentment within me. That he apparently was the
hatchet man for the C.O. made it all the more troubling.
*****
MIKE
I was watching the tail end of the Lakers-Bulls game as Michael
Jordan and the team were making the once-invincible Los Angeles Lakers look
like small town high school team. The phone rang, and I got up to answer it.
‘Probably Dave calling to say he was late,’ I reasoned. It was 1700.
~~~ “Mr. Cole, this is Melanie at the reception desk.” Melanie was
the youngest daughter of a retired Navy captain and worked weekends at the
club.
“Hi, Melanie. Is there a problem?”
~~~ “No, Sir. A sailor delivered an envelope for you a few moments
ago. It’s from a D. Swenson. The writing on the envelope says that you should
be called immediately.”
“Okay, Melanie. You did the right thing. Put the envelope on my
desk. I’ll be over in a little while. It’s just club business.” ‘Something not
good is going down,’ I thought.
~~~ “I’ll do that, Sir.”
“Thanks for handling it. See you in a few.” ‘Holy fuck,’ I
thought, ‘Whatever is happening, Dave needs me fast.’ I dashed topside and
threw on a pair of slacks and a long sleeve shirt.
Taking advantage of a quiet Sunday evening on the San Diego
streets and freeways, I was at the club and my parking space 30 minutes later.
I imagined an earlier time, not too many years ago before the Coronado Bridge
had opened. Waiting for a Coronado Ferry to forge across the waters would have
been a bitch.
I walked into the club and headed for the dining room. After
saying ‘hi’ to the manager, I repeated the same course with the bartender. It
was a slow Sunday night and I didn’t want to appear that anything was troubling
me. Fortunately, Melanie had already gone home for the evening.
I immediately spotted the envelope for me, addressed in Dave’s
handwriting. I closed the door and retrieved the letter from the sealed
envelope.
“Mike.
Something is very wrong on the Stennis.
At 1130 today, I was called to Lt. Howard Bono’s office. He is my boss at the
tech command center. He asked me if I knew Carson Perry. I said yes…that we
were casual friends.
He said that Perry was being
investigated for being the part of a homosexual group of sailors. He then said
that I had been observed visiting…in his words…‘a house in a gay part of town’
and had gay friends. Bono implied that Captain Morgan, the C.O., was behind
this.
At that point, when I asked for legal
advice, he told me I wasn’t a ‘fucking civilian’ and dismissed me. I’m now
confined to my bunk. I’m being railroaded by a bunch of bigots with Morgan and
Bono in the lead.
Please call Uncle Trey Swenson at
651-835-0131. He’s an attorney and can help find a solution. Uncle Trey was
Senator Paul Wellstone’s head fundraiser in the last election.
Anything else you can think of would be
appreciated. Just so you know, Carson and I were only friends and had lunch or
dinner together. He’s a pretty nice guy. Funny, we never discussed sexual
orientation.
Dave”
I noticed that nothing in the note implied our relationship.
‘Smart,’ I judged as I dialed Trey Swenson’s telephone number. It was 2200 back
in St. Paul.
~~~ “Swenson residence,” a mature female voice answered.
“Mrs. Swenson, this is Mike Cole, Dave’s friend. Sorry to disturb
you tonight.”
~~~ “Mike, Dave has mentioned you several times. Trey and I hope
to meet you soon. Is there anything wrong with Dave?”
“Some Navy stuff that Dave asked I call your husband about,
immediately.”
~~~ “Just a moment, Mike.”
I heard a short muffled conversation over the line. “Mike, this is Trey
Swenson. Or, I guess I should say Uncle Trey? From Dave’s description, sounds
like I’ve got another nephew?”
“Yes, Sir. Dave and I are very much a couple. And, I would be
proud to refer to you as ‘uncle’. However, let me get to the point: Dave’s in
some deep shit, I think. He sent a message off the ship to me tonight and asked
that I contact you immediately.”
~~~ “Why don’t you read the message and we’ll go from there?” I
liked this guy already. Over the next five minutes, I read the note and told
Trey about the O.N.I. investigation team.
“And, that’s about it. I’m very worried for Dave, obviously.
What’s happening doesn’t seem to jive with Clinton’s ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’
policy.”
~~~ “It certainly doesn’t, Mike. It’s 11:00 p.m. in Washington,
and it’s Sunday night. I may start a series of phone tag messages tonight. But,
I’m on this like ‘brown gravy on potatoes’ tomorrow, first thing in the
morning.”
“That’s great, Uncle Trey. Dave needs us in his corner. I really
feel confident about your ability, Sir, to help.” I gave him all of my contact
numbers and we disconnected, with the promise to speak at noontime CST,
tomorrow. Something told me that people returned Trey Swenson’s phone calls.
I immediately called Tom Feldman. Without mentioning my name, I
asked the guys to meet me at Madison Street and Park Avenue at 2000. This was
the location of Bourbon Street, our neighborhood gay bar. They understood my
vagueness.
*****
I always felt comfortable at Bourbon Street. It was a great mix of
surfer dudes, college students, business professionals and retired men who
appreciated the eye candy. Tom and Mark were sitting at a table near the pool
table when I arrived.
“Hey, guys. Thanks for getting together on short notice.” I gave
the lovers a rundown of Dave’s predicament without running any editorial
comments. Tom was taking notes.
“Those fuckers,” said Mark. “Sounds like the C.O. has started an
‘ask and tell’ policy.”
“Mike, I won’t mention your name, but I do want Dad to run with
this. Do you have any problem with that?” he asked. I smiled, thinking about
Brent’s description of Tom as a ‘baby mogul’ in the making, with killer
instincts.
“Absolutely none. They’re screwing around with my other half. I’ll
do anything to protect him,” I answered, in a determined stance.
“Okay, bro. I’ve got a few phone calls to make. Can I call you at
the club tomorrow morning?” Tom asked.
“Absolutely. I’ll be in from 0900…whoops, 9:00 a.m. on. I’ll let
my secretary know you’ll be calling.” We finished our beers and departed before
2100.
*****
DAVE
‘Thank God for an old Robert Ludlum novel that I had not read
before,’ I thought, as I lay in my bunk after breakfast. I was required to let
the duty watch know when left for a head break or food. It was almost Monday
noon, and I was ready for lunch when a runner from the bridge interrupted me.
“Swenson, Captain Morgan is expecting you. Follow me.” ‘Well, the
old man wants my presence in his court,’ I thought, sarcastically. I put on my
well-polished shoes and followed the runner to the C.O.’s command post.
I saluted and said, “Airman Swenson, reporting as ordered, Sir.”
Before me was a slightly pudgy, middle-aged officer who was sweating slightly
and had a smile that blended condescension with spite.
“Swenson, please sit down. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” he
said, with a look that telecommunicated ‘don’t push me’.
“If you have a Coke, I’d appreciate it, Sir,” I replied with an
innocent look. I was determined to push buttons, if I could.
“Sure, Airman.” He walked over to a wet bar, shaking his head, and
retrieved a can of Coke. He handed it to me and sat behind a humongous desk.
“Dave, I understand we have a little problem?” he asked quietly.
“Problem, Sir? The only problem is Lt. Bono trying to associate me
with some sort of gay group of sailors that he says you want to get rid of,
Sir. Seems to center around a guy I know by the name of Carson Perry.” I could
see small beads of sweat forming above his upper lip.
“He said that?”
“Yes, Sir, in so many words,” I said, with an intense stare into
his eyes.
“I completely deny any association with Bono’s comments.”
“All I know is what he told me, Sir.” ‘Good,’ I thought, ‘the C.O.
is very worried. What a lying sack of shit.’
“Bono doesn’t speak for me,” he said, without conviction.
“What about those scary guys following me around in a black car?”
“I’ll call O.N.I. immediately and make sure that the surveillance
ceases.”
“Good. I felt very uncomfortable with them behind me.” Funny, he knew who was following me.
“Well, what else can I do for you, Swenson?” ‘Great,’ I thought.
This cocksucker is groveling.
“For openers, Sir, I want to be released from being confined to my
bunk. Until Lt. Bono spoke, I was ready for 72 hours of leave.”
“I’ll arrange that immediately. Anything else, Swenson?”
“I just want to finish my enlistment and go on to college, Sir.”
“What if I could arrange for an early discharge?”
“When, Sir? And would it be honorable, Sir?” I locked into his
eyes with conviction.
“Immediately, Swenson, an honorable discharge could be arranged.”
He squinted at me before mopping his brow of sweat.
“I would consider that a resolution, Sir.” At this point, I was
ready to exit the Navy. This situation had created a very bitter taste in my
mouth, and I was tired of hiding. “What’s happening to Perry, Sir? Is he going
to be all right?” ‘Might as well go for the gold,’ I thought.
“He’s being released, too. I’ll get back to you on the discharge,
Swenson. You’re expected back on board Thursday morning at 0730. Report to me
at that hour.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Just tell me one thing. How did you get the White House and the
offices of Senators Boxer, Feinstein, and Wellman involved in this little
problem?”
“Sir, you’ll have to ask them.” I stood and gave him a smart
salute before leaving. ‘Squirm, you four-striped asshole,’ I thought, as I
returned to my bunk and dressed for shore leave. Whatever Mike had accomplished
with Uncle Trey had been successful. But where did the California senators fit
in?
I went back to my compartment and collected my gear to depart from
the ship. As soon as I hit the dock, I immediately went over to the bank of pay
phones and dialed Mike’s club office. “Hello, may I speak with Ltjg. Cole? This
is Mr. Davidson calling,” I said, remembering our adventure in Memphis at the
Peabody.
~~~ “Mr. Davidson, how the fuck are you, man?” Mike said, coming
on the line.
“Better, now that I hear your voice. Just wanted to let you know
I’m on my way into town. I don’t know exactly what you did, but the results
were spectacular,” I answered enthusiastically.
~~~ “I’ll be able to get away around 1600. See ya then?”
“Yes, Sir.” We both knew to keep our phone conversation to the
bare essentials.
*****
MIKE
I was very relieved as I dialed Trey Swenson’s private office
number from a pay phone in the club lobby. It was 1500 in St. Paul.
~~~ “Trey Swenson,” the familiar voice answered.
“Uncle Trey, it’s Mike. I just spoke to Dave. He’s been released
and is going to the house,” I said in an upbeat manner.
~~~ “Paul Wellstone and I have been friends for a long time. Among
other things, he’s very concerned about gay rights and the military. But, my
nephew must have some other friends in high places. Diane Fienstein’s office
called a while ago. The senator wanted to assure me that she was looking into
the situation, along with her California colleague, Barbara Boxer.”
“That must be the work of T.J. Feldman, the dad of a close friend
of ours.”
~~~ “I’m impressed. T.J. is an important ally. I know him from his
work on the Democratic National Committee.”
“I don’t know much more. Why don’t I have Dave call you this
evening around eight your time?”
~~~ “Ideal, Mike, I’m really pleased that I could be of
assistance. Knowing Paul, and now the California senators, some people the U.S.
Navy are in for some tough sledding, as we say in Minnesota. Give my love to
Dave. I’ll talk to you guys tonight.”
*****
DAVE
After showering and putting on my favorite cotton sweat-pant
cutoffs and a tee, I padded below and made a late lunch. Out on the patio, in a
chaise lounge, I slowly chewed on a tuna fish and tomato sandwich, and drank a
cold Bud Light while I analyzed the past 48 hours. I had to wonder how many
others were being fucked over. We had all heard about incidents of beatings and
murders of sailors and soldiers in the hands of other ignorant homophobes in
the military. I considered myself lucky to have connections.
I planned out the rest of the day and tomorrow in my mind. Mike
would be here in a couple of hours. I had some definite ideas about that
reunion. Then, tomorrow, I would definitely go over to UCSD admissions with my
transcripts and begin enrollment for the fall term. The more I thought about
it, I became determined to take advantage of an early discharge, if one was
offered. The captain would take every opportunity to appease me. ‘Thank god for
friends in high places,’ I thought, gratefully, as I closed my eyes. I felt
sorry for the poor bastards who didn’t have political leverage.
The next thing I felt were warm, moist lips on my forehead. I
slowly awakened to the image of my man in officer khakis. “Hey, babe.” I
reached up and pulled him down to sit on a corner of the chaise lounge. “This
is the best sight of a guy in a uniform I’ve had in several days.” I sat up and
offered myself for a heavy-duty embrace and kiss.
“Hey, yourself. Dave, you’ve just made my day a lot brighter.” Our
lips met and immediately I surrendered to his advancing tongue as it danced
with mine. His hands strongly held my back as he continued a passionate
assault.
Pulling away, I said, “Mike, I notice a big growth in your pants.
Why don’t you change into something a little more comfortable and come back to
the patio. We can update each other on what’s happened.”
“Good idea. I’d better change before the pants get marked with
pecker tracks. Open me a beer, and I’ll be right back,” he said, as he rose
from the chaise lounge.
“Aye, aye, Sir. Don’t put on anything that will be difficult to
take off, later,” I replied with a laugh.
“At ease, sailor. That is, if your dick can follow that order,”
Mike tossed out as he entered the house, laughing.
________________________
TO BE CONTINUED