BOOT CAMP

Is there any picture NOT worth a thousand words? If so it's the official "Boot Camp" graduation photo!

While I was in high school at Menlo-Atherton High in Atherton, California, I had dabbled in broadcasting in and around San Francisco during high school, a little acting in local theatre productions, being frequently told I really didn't have the traditional radio voice to be a disc jockey, nor the talent to be an actor. Radio was becoming hot as the disc jockey was the newest rage, and "top 40" radio had taken over the radio bands in cities all over the country. This "new thing" in radio had quickly replaced the "old fashioned" radio consisting of dramatic programs, serials (mostly westerns) and scripted programs. I got a letter suggesting that "all smart high school graduates go on to college," so I decided to look into UCLA thinking that perhaps my desire to get into radio would supercede my average grade point and slide me in. Secondly, I had a reference: Gil Robbins, who was in the UCLA marching band as the marimba player - after he had figured a way to mount one on wheels. His parents had were my parents very best friends during their own Los Angeles upbringings and while at UCLA, Gil was living down on the L.A. coast and said if I got into UCLA I was welcome to stay with he and Mary and to commute to school.

So as soon as graduation was over, I jumped into the 1952 Studebaker and headed south to L.A. Gil showed me all over the UCLA campus and I very much liked the atmosphere, huge lawns with freshly-planted trees, new buildings. Though when it came time to talk to a potential-student-advisor things went downhill quickly. "You must realize," he intoned with a slight British stage accent, "that studying the process of broadcasting requires study in the dramatic arts." He continued intoning, but my brain switched into Top 40 mode, waiting for something he'd say which could be even remotelyrelevant to the sort of radio that I knew was was "happening," and not what he was describing, which sounded straight out of the 1930s to me. "And then there's the matter of your grades over the past four years, which unfortunately are not quite up to the standards of a university such as ours." (The British accent became more pronounced.) "Rahthuh, I would suggest you might wish to spend some time at a junior college more local to you and then apply later to the California University System." I thanked Gil and Mary for their hospitality and left for home. As the Studebaker droned over The Grapevine as I headed north toward home, my mind vacillated between "how could they turn me down!" and "What I probably should do is join the military, where I could at least study something I could use later - and they'd pay for it and I'd be accepted...and later I could get onto Radio Free Europe, or the Voice of America. Dream big, Jan. When I arrived home I got together with my high school buddy, Wil Schutz. We talked about the various services and how the Korean War was over, World War II was just a memory, and there was little political need for the U.S. to get into a war (at least until the 1970s, right?) We ignored the ongoing "cold war" which we both felt created the need to grow the armed forces, therefore we'd be acceptable material. So then it became a matter of choice: Air Force? Not hardly. Army? Too much marching. Marines? Naa. Too much discipline. Coast Guard? Uh...might as well go to junior college. So the U.S. Navy got two stunning high school graduates. On September 4th, after several weeks of wondering whether we did the right thing, Wil (nickname Sonny) and I got on some form of transportation neither of us remembers and we DO remember arriving at the U.S. Naval Training Center in San Diego in what - to us - was the dead of night, 5:30 a.m.

I'm front left, saluting, St. Clair Orvin center, Rich Olquin front right playing flag.

All the bootcamp stories begin here and I don't need to recall the entire aspect of training, but I do remember that largely that first day consisted of being naked many times, trying on nothing which actually fit a 6'3" guy with a skinny 145-pound frame, and being poked and prodded, becoming hairless, and being assigned to Company 547 under the direction of Company Captain -taskmaster - Quartermaster Chief F. D. Wilson who spent most of our time there scaring the bejeezus out of everyone in the company. The Recruit Company Yeoman disappeared (reassigned? don't remember) so early on, I was made Recruit Company Yeoman, thereby "Captain" Wilson's humble assistant. Our Recruit Company Commander was St. Clair B. Orvin of Moncks Corner, North Carolina, and our Recruit Assistant Petty Officer was Richard Stark. Our "Guide-on Bearer" (flag carrier) was Ricardo "Rich" Olquin. Our company was about 75% Californians which caused no end of problems for Chief Wilson. Lets just say, that many Golden Staters together are inventive troublemakers who enjoy subterfuge and practical jokes. We did, however, work well together, and at the end of graduation, Chief Wilson said goodbye with genuine tears in his eyes, and we expressing our gratitude for all he taught us.

Due to some test results, I had lucked out and missed the joy of carrying a rifle the entire time we were "on the grinders" (marching practice). Instead, the Yeoman wore a canvas belt with a small knife in a sheath. All for show, it was never removed except to shine it for inspections. I think I was made company yeoman because I was 6'3" tall, and had the longest legs in the company so it made sense to have me march up front with the tall guys. Our entire company was organized tallest in front, shortest in back, (except for 5 foot something Orvin, consequently all marching was a running contest for those bringing up the rear. It seemed that just about when it dawned on me that boot camp was all about marching, things changed and it became time for KP. Again fortunate, I wound up on the serving line, and cleanup instead of the truly gritty kitchen drudgery. Instead, my toughest work was cleaning the copper steam table pipes with tabasco sauce! (it works. Wonder what it does to your personal interior plumbing?) (Read the History of "U.S. Naval Training Center San Diego")

BAINBRIDGE, MARYLAND

I graduated from Boot Camp in November, 1958 and then was allowed to go home (San Francisco) on leave for a couple of weeks, and on December 6, 1958 I boarded a plane for the propeller-driven TWA flight to Chicago and then on to Washington D.C. because I was on my way to (the late) Bainbridge Naval Training Center in Maryland for "Yeoman School". On the flight, I met a sailor who lived north of Washington in Pikesville, Maryland and since I didn't have to be in Bainbridge until the following Monday, the plan was I'd stay the weekend with he and his mother in Pikesville, then they'd drive me up to meet the bus from Havre de Gras, MD to Bainbridge. They knew the basic area well, and after a great weekend I found myself at Bainbridge Naval Station. (Great book on the history of "Bainbridge Naval Training Center").

Shortly after arriving at Bainbridge NS, ostensibly for training as a Yeoman (secretary), I kept hearing from friends and relatives that they had been "interviewed" by Naval Security officers for a clearance. The friends/relatives wanted to know what was going on. Heck! I didn't even know!

As it turned out the Navy planned on my becoming a Communications Technician - A-Brancher. Same job, different title. I had a great time going through school, meeting new buds, and getting those first blushes of being an adult and on my own. I seem to remember doing well in school, and have very positive memories of the experience...and made a lot of friends. We even "escaped" for a weekend and a bunch of us took a bus up to New York City a bunch of Navy guys and WAVE friends - and there were no arrests!

Just before Graduation, in late February, our next duty stations were announced. All my friends got the duty stations they applied for on their "suggestion sheets." Me? TURKEY! The one country on earth I knew less than zero about, and suddenly everyone I knew was gobbling in my presence, or talking about having to ride camels to work. I was teased mercilessly because I believe I was the only one going to Turkey, and very soon after landing in Turkey I realized they had all been victims of severe stupidity.

After graduation from Bainbridge Yeoman/CT school and Turkish language training, on March 7, 1959 I flew home to San Francisco for some more leave then had to fly TWA from San Francisco to New York City, where several of us were met by a military bus and transported to the Brooklyn Naval Yard for "processing". I remember it was very hot in the barracks (the radiators, not outside weather). After a few days we were then bused down to McGuire Air Force Base in Trenton, New Jersey to await a MATS flight to Turkey and the few stops in between. A 'hop skip and a jump' as far as this ignorant soul knew.

ON TO TURKEY!

We left McGuire AFB on April 6th, my orders showing I had to appear not later than 12 April, 1959 at Tuslog Det 28, Karamürsel, Turkey.

Excelsior Hotel, Rome

I was pleased to join a group in which a bunch of us were Navy guys headed for Turkey, and the rest were Air Force guys going to various duty stations throughout Turkey, so we all bonded well during the lengthy overnight flight from McGuire to the Azores, and then on to Rome where we had an overnight at the Excelsior Hotel downtown.

Unfortunately we Navy guys didn't allow for Rome's traffic and the extreme distance to the airport the next morning and so our cab finally pulled up to the airport a half hour after our flight had taken off. Seriously! Honest, we didn't mean to! So we "had" to stay two whole days in Rome in order to be transferred to the next British European Airways flight out of Fiumicino. This allowed us a great educational experience. One of our group, Angelo, spoke some Italian! We decided to take advantage of what Rome was famous for: the...uh...special type of films involving large-breasted Italian women acting while minimally dressed! Our Italian speaker tried asking a policeman where a movie theatre might be which showed those...uh...special films. The cop gave specific directions which we followed to the letter. So, naturally, we found ourselves sitting in a theatre showing "Come September" with Bobby Darin, Sandra Dee and Gina Lollobrigida in her most G-rated role ever! Aside from learning never to ask a policeman for directions to a racy movie, we did manage to see a good bit of Rome on foot that evening and the next two days, and enjoyed an incredible Italian dinner alongside the Roman Forum, a guided tour the next day of the Vatican, the Castel Sant'Angelo (Hadrian's Palace), the Spanish Steps, the Trevi fountain, and a whole lot more. It was April and the city was a-bloom giving us its springtime show. Name a better time to be in "Roma!" Finally, we got booked on a commercial flight - British European Airways and a Boeing 707 jet - and on to Athens for a short layover, then to Istanbul. We never got into trouble for missing the flight as we arrived in Istanbul a few days earlier than the required date in our orders.

Yesilkoy Airport was the definition of bedlam! Crowded, loud, the locals somehow knowing - from our Navy Uniforms that we were Americans and, therefore, easy touches. We felt under siege and were thankful to board the bus to central Istanbul, and to the Kahan Building where we'd spend the night, have a little briefing on the country, its people, customs, much more realistic than the one given to me at Bainbridge.

The next day: a lofty goal called Karamürsel. After a fitful but much needed night's sleep halfway around the world from where I had left, a now-smaller group of us were taken by U.S. Army servicemen to Galata Bridge where we were pointed to a ferry which would transport us across the Marmara Sea for Yalova, after an interim stop at Byukada [Big Island] in the Princes Islands. When Trotsky was asked to leave Russia, he had exiled himself for a time on Byukada, according to one of my new friends also traveling to Yalova. In addition Byukada was one of the homes of the "Father of Modern Turkey," Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. (ata means father) I remember that coming into Yalova wasn't all that different than my frequent childhood experiences arriving at San Francisco by ferry. The weather in Turkey was remarkably mild, and very San Francisco-like, the spring flowers were blooming, and the Turks were curious, helpful and wonderfully friendly. I had listened enough back at Bainbridge that a few Turks even gave me the impression they understood some of my Turkish. Off the ferry in Yalova, a bustling travel center, but on the south shore of the Sea of Marmara, and onto another bus, this time headed due east on a dirt road along the Sea to Karamürsel Air Station.

No one on that bus knew what to expect. We only knew that being driven this far into the "outback" would mean we'd be quite isolated. The bus didn't take us onto the base, but dropped us off - seabags and all - just outside the main gate. I'm sure we all felt like Neil Armstrong did ten years later when he took "man's first steps" on the moon. On our side of the road was the base, mostly grey steel buildings with few windows, and to the left, a barracks compound in darker grey concrete buildings. I was assigned to the Navy administration office, a long walk from those barracks down a road which had once served as an Air Force runway in World War II. There was a base shuttle bus, but everyone seemed enjoy walking in the nice sea air rather than waiting for the next bus. It was less than a mile to the operations buildings.

Karamürsel and I got along quite well. I helped in the founding of the Navy radio station on base, WUSN, and later was program director of KTUS, the Air Force-built radio station. Serving as an announcer gave me the opportunity to practice skills that would serve me later (without UCLA's help!)

Life at "Mainsite" or in the winter, "Mudsite", was a pleasure. I worked with great people all the way around, the socializing between the Navy (and Marine) guys and the Air Force guys bordered on that human pack-animal thing where we all considered ourselves in it together, so lets make the best of our time here. The base had many recreational options, there were clubs, good food, and charming Turkish citizens who worked everything from the telephone system to the stores and "dorms" which we found was the Air Force word for "barracks." At the Karamursel office, I was promoted to the Commanding Officer's personal administrative office, serving the always happy Captain James H. Fortune, and Commander Rodney Potolicchio, the Executive Officer. I worked with Stephen (Shannon)Janes, the late Brooks Loomis, and Ken Cadran and one could never beg for a better crew and officers. I'll tell you something about Captain Fortune which I remember utmost in our relationship, and is actually quite rare among the personalities of officers in charge: he had no patience, and saw no sense, in adding to the stress level of being 10,000 miles away from one's home. He was an advanced realist, an affable sort, who never asked anyone to work harder or longer than he did. His model was one of enlightened authority, and he insisted his fellow officers follow his lead. Consequently, working on his staff was a marvelous experience, and as things turned out I would wind up in identical surroundings at the Pentagon. I was in heaven...until 1961 when I received orders to the Pentagon.

The PENTAGON

After 2 great years in Karamürsel, I was sent to work in the office of the Chief of Naval Operations at the Pentagon, handling communications between that office and State Department, the White House and other locations. Then, in what seemed a snap of a finger, I was facing the big decision: Stay in the Navy and make it a career, or get out and take my chances. Suddenly it was September, 1962 and Navy life was over. The chances won! It wasn't until a decade later I had my first thought that "I shoulda stayed in the Navy!" but by then I was well into a career in broadcasting and there was no turning back.

TUSLOG DET 28, Karamürsel, TURKEY
PHOTOS TAKEN 1959 - 1960

By Jan Claire, US Navy

I consider my time in Turkey to be one of the most positive influences of my life, and the friends I made there among the best I have ever had, many of whom I'm still in touch with on a regular basis. Kenn "Mickey" Martin, Chris Coburn, Dick Mills, both on my Facebook page today, we're still joking around and 52 years later enjoying wry conversations. It is wonderful to be in touch with many of these pals to this day, others are back in touch, too, after having searched for them off and on over 40 years. It was also at Karamürsel, while serving as an aide to the administrative assistants (Yeomen) of the commanding officer and executive officer, that I had an opportunity to edit the Navy's newspaper and to participate in some wonderful adventures, getting to know many people in the bargain.

My immediate superior in the executive office, was Stephen Shannon Janes, a brilliant, low key sort of guy whose idea of fun was taking virtually every correspondence course the Navy offered and acing every test, something I emulated to a great degree. It only stands to reason that Shannon is now retired from his job as associate Vice President of University of Texas in Austin in Student Affairs ("Hook 'em Horns!").

Unfortunately, there are many good friends I have been unable to re-establish contact with. Most are shown in the pictures below, and any help with names, locations, or hints as to how to find them, would be appreciated.

A decade ago, I became absorbed into the Karamürsel Air Station '60-'61 group which is making a concerted effort to locate existing members of the Air Force, Navy, Marines and even Army who served at Karamürsel either during these years, or thereabouts. They're not picky. If you're reading this and aren't tuned into the KAS 60-61 group, and get tuned in....there's going to be a reunion of all of us in October, in Gatlinburg, Tennessee and you should definitely be there!

And one other thing: I've changed my mind. Now that I'm over 70, I realize it was probably not smart to get out of the Navy after four years. I should have stayed and made a career of it. I really accomplished nothing substantial that couldn't have waited another 16 years, and I thoroughly enjoyed my Naval experience. Of course, it's only when you look back that 16 years fly by almost unnoticed. Oh well.

OK Now on to the photos..."(NF)" Indicates someone I've not found.
If you know anything about these people, be sure to let me know.