 |
The
Carpenters Sing at Christmastime
by
Jeff
Petrie
former Lieutenant
, U.S.
Navy |
My partner Nick did a wonderful job at keeping my
spirits up during the four and one-half months
that USS Kirk had been away from her homeport of
Long Beach, deployed to the Persian Gulf with the
USS Ranger Carrier Battle Group. When mail
call came in, I could count on several little
update notes, smiles, and expressions of
love. They were always signed
"NP."
A feeling of excitement and joy filtered through
the passageways of officer’s country and the
rest of the ship as the realization set in that we
had successfully completed our time in the Gulf.
The voyage home was about to begin. In our
final port of call on the Arabian
Peninsula--Muscat, Oman--we enjoyed shopping for
holiday gifts, pirated music, and tokens to remind
ourselves of Oman. It was Christmastime, and
among other treasures I purchased a compilation
tape of all the Carpenters' holiday songs,
thinking to myself that they would remind me of
home during our eight-day voyage across the Indian
Ocean as we made our way through the equatorial
heat to Geraldton, Western Australia.
Feeling in a bit of a holiday mood, with gifts for
family members in many bags, I returned from a
last jaunt ashore in Muscat. I was
practically skipping in my mind when I stepped
onto the ship's brow and requested permission to
come aboard from the officer of the deck.
Permission granted, I walked onto the quarterdeck
and past the podium where the petty officer of the
watch stood.
My eye caught a glimpse of familiar writing on a
piece of paper on the podium. My mental
skipping stopped. I looked closer, trying to
do so without calling attention to myself and my
being nosey about the paper of interest. It
was Nick's writing all down the page of
paper! As nonchalant as I could be, I picked
up the piece of paper and slipped it into one of
the bags in my hand. "What was a letter
from Nick doing on the quarterdeck?!" I
remember thinking to myself as I picked up the
pace toward my stateroom. Only there was it
safe for me to read for the first time the letter
that was addressed to me, but which had obviously
been read by at least a few of my shipmates first.
As I sat on my rack and read the letter, it was
painfully obvious that Nick had innocently sent me
a totally incriminating letter detailing his
thoughts of what we would do upon my return to
California. It was rated X, and was signed,
"Love, Nick". My mind started
racing as I thought about who might have read the
letter. Who opened my letter? And how
would they respond to what they read?
I had no recourse for this federal offense: Any
report to the Captain (whom I did not trust) about
my mail being opened by other people would have
certainly resulted in an inquiry about the letter
in question. "Can I see the
letter?" he would have asked.
I popped the tape of the Carpenters' Christmas
tunes into my Walkman to try to think about
something else. But my mind and imagination
continued to race. The next morning we were
to leave port to traverse the Indian Ocean.
People sometimes
chide me today for what was my reality during the
next several days, but they did not serve aboard
my ship at that time in our Navy's history: I
remember being quite certain that I was going to
find myself in the water in the wake behind USS
Kirk at some point in the next few nights, thrown
overboard by a group of my shipmates. It was
certainly possible, as I heard the hatred which
drove some of the conversations in the workplace
during those days when gays in the military was in
the news: The
Democrat running for President, Bill Clinton, had
promised to lift the ban. If the wrong people read
that letter, I was doomed.
I remember being sad that I never got the chance
to say goodbye to my mom and sister back in
Washington and Oregon. I was not yet out to
them, and could not explain the significance of
what had happened. I remember during those
long long watches on the bridge without another
ship in sight, wondering to myself for how long I
would try to tread water before sinking into the
dark abyss of the Indian Ocean. During my
free time, I continued to try to distract my fears
by the music of the Carpenters: "Winter
Wonderland" and "Sleigh Ride" were
best at shifting my thoughts to Christmases past.
Many times over the next several days I relied on
the Carpenters to take me to an imaginary winter
wonderland, safe at home with my friends and
family. Incredibly, Christmas came and went, and
we held a traditional Crossing the Line Ceremony—for
which I represented the officers in the Beauty
Pageant. (I did not know whether to be happy
or disappointed that I did not even place in the
top three in the Pageant. To this day that
remains the only time I have dressed in drag.)
And now I come to a point in the story that words
unfortunately cannot describe: Imagine
knowing that the sun was going to rise in the
East, and then have it not. Imagine
anticipating the hour of noon, and then having it
not arrive. Imagine expecting the tide to
eventually come in, but the water staying far out
past the sandy beach. That was the awe that
I felt when USS Kirk pulled into Geraldton with me
still onboard.
Nothing ever
happened.
In a strange but
fabulous land at New Year's Eve, I purchased a
plane ticket for Perth to get 250 miles south to a
gay place for the festivities. That New Year's Eve
in Perth remains one of the best celebrations I
have ever had. It was also the most surreal—surrounded
by Australian people like me, but yet feeling an
overwhelming sense of being alone. The
hotties of Perth fought over who could speak to
me, as they just loved my American accent. I
think from that experience I know what it would be
like for Ricky Martin to go out to a gay
bar. It was that crazy.
Every year at holiday time, I cannot help but hear
Karen Carpenter's haunting voice over the airwaves—and
I can still quite easily envision the stern light
of USS Kirk fading off into the dark as I begin
treading water in the last swirls of her
wake. And I recall the details of that
federal offense committed against me that left me
powerless, and afraid, at Christmas.
----
Jeff Petrie, a
1989 graduate of the United States Naval Academy
in Annapolis, is today the President of the only
out LGBT alumni group of any United States service
academy called USNA Out. Over 100 members strong,
USNA Out’s members represent the Class of 1942
through the Class of 2006—all of them civilians
who have little or nothing to lose by being out
about their support for LGBT Naval Academy alumni.
Find out more online at http://www.usnaout.org
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