All I Want for Christmas is an Open Parking Spot

The holidays are often a time filled with hustle and bustle (all wrapped up with a bow and festive, multi-colored lights). There are places to go, things to buy and everyone is often going to the same place (seemingly all at the same exact time) to buy the exact same thing.

When I was around 10 years old, my family set out on a similar journey one weekend leading up to the holidays. With my father driving and my mother seated up front, my brother and I each claimed our favorite spots in the back seat of our car. Our destination was a large and, at the time, relatively new shopping center located in Northeast Philadelphia at the intersection of Roosevelt Boulevard and Haldeman Avenue, about a 20 minute drive from our home.

In addition to a number of small, specialty stores it had a large ShopRite grocery store, a Crazy Eddie appliance store (always a good time) and Caldor, a run-of-the-mill department store chain which has now long since gone out of business. On this particular trip, we were specifically heading to Caldor for some amazing deal my mother had run across in their most recent newspaper circular ad.

The parking lot was, in a word, insane. Trying to find an available parking spot was like unsuccessfully playing a vehicular version of Whac-A-Mole. Even with my brother Steven and me acting as spotters, my father would pull around an aisle of cars just in time to see someone else claim the recently open spot.

This went on for a good 20 minutes when our luck finally changed. After a great deal of pedestrian stalking, we saw someone about to back their car out. My father put on his turn signal indicator and gave the departing vehicle enough space to easily back out and be on their way.

As soon my father placed his foot on the accelerator, a silver Chevrolet Corvette immediately zipped into the spot, with the driver smirking – as if he had just gotten one over on the family that was foolish enough to actually be considerate and wait their turn. My father instantly put on his four-way hazard lights, threw the car into “park” and bounded out of the driver’s seat to have a word with our Corvette driving friend.   

My father was never one to anger or rile easily. He was and still is, unquestionably, one of the most patient and even-keeled people I will have ever known. While at 5’ 10” and 250 lbs. he could be somewhat imposing, he was the pinnacle of playing it cool and using logic and rational thinking to solve any problem or issue. But, like anyone he could also have a temper when sufficiently provoked.

From our vantage point in the backseat, Steven and I could see our father arguing with the Corvette driver but the guy refused to move his car. His girlfriend who was now out of the passenger seat and standing beside the car just waited impatiently. He seemed to actually be laughing, thinking it was all some sort of joke. Knowing that his family was watching the entire scene unfold, my father returned to our car and immediately took us to look for another open spot, seething in anger.

My father was the type of person that when he was angry he didn’t get loud – instead he became silent. And the car became very silent, very fast. Knowing this, our mother did her best to calm him.

Soon enough, we found another available spot and parked. As we entered Caldor, my mother and brother split off to head to the boy’s clothing section. Not having anything specific we needed, my father and I headed off to the sporting goods section to see what Caldor had to offer.

We were perusing camping and outdoor gear when we heard a voice from behind us. The Corvette guy was walking down the aisle toward my father with his hand extended saying, “Hey, no hard feelings, man.” He actually wanted to shake my father’s hand.

I saw my father begin to slowly shake his head as if to say, “No” and, without saying a word, he punched the Corvette guy square in the jaw, easily knocking him backward and onto the ground. The guy stayed on the linoleum floor, obviously stunned by the pain he was now feeling and rubbing his jaw. My father stepped over him and quietly said, “You just shouldn’t have taken the spot… you shouldn’t have taken it.”

Looking back, he gestured for me to take his hand, “Come on, son” and we just walked away. As we made it a little further toward the front of the store, we stopped. “I would prefer it if you didn’t mention this to your mother,” my father intoned.

A few moments later, we met up with my mother and brother. And I simply couldn’t contain what I had just witnessed, “Mom! Steve! That guy in the Corvette who took our parking spot?! Dad laid him out with one punch over in the sporting goods section! Like knocked out, on the floor over there in aisle nine,” I said excitedly.

My mother turned to my father, “You didn’t? Did you?” My father only repeated, “He just shouldn’t have taken the spot.”

For years after that day, which we came to know in our family as “The Caldor Incident” we would often ask if we could take a ride to Caldor whenever we felt the need to add a little excitement to our weekend. Here’s hoping that all future Kaminski holiday seasons are eventful, but maybe not THAT eventful.    

- Scott Kaminski

Ship Chasing 101: Make Sure the Ship is There When You Arrive

In August 1996, I left the island of Diego Garcia in the middle of the Indian Ocean on an Air Force KC-10 bound for Okinawa, Japan. Emptied of all its cargo, the KC-10 was cavernous and quite prone to echo. In addition to myself and the three pilots who were assigned to operate the plane, the only other passengers on board were a Marine who had obviously done something very, very naughty (he was in handcuffs for the duration of our time together) and two agents from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS) who were escorting him off of the island.

My next duty station was the USS Belleau Wood, an amphibious assault ship (roughly the size of a World War II aircraft carrier) which was forward deployed (the fancy name for U.S. Navy ships which were permanently housed in locations which were not the United States) out of Sasebo, Japan. As luck would have it, I was scheduled to arrive at the base in Sasebo approximately two hours after the Belleau Wood’s departure from port.

The public affairs officer who I would be reporting to on the Belleau Wood, said that as a staff journalist I would be needed for the port visit the Belleau Wood would soon be making to Vladivostok, Russia. He made me promise that when I arrived in Sasebo I would kick, scream and curse if needed to ensure the base personnel department sent me chasing after the ship. (Other sailors who were not specifically needed for the trip would instead be set up with a room on base and given temporary duty until the ship arrived back in port.) Additionally, he assured me that he would call the base personnel department and make clear to them that I was to be sent along to meet the USS Belleau Wood no matter what.

The KC-10 landed safely at Kadena Air Force base in Okinawa. I was directed to one of the terminal buildings but told not to get too comfortable as my next flight would be leaving relatively soon. Within the hour I was back in the air, this time in an Air Force C-130 turboprop headed for Fukuoka, Japan. On the KC-10, I wasn’t in first class (as that’s not exactly an option on military aircraft) but I was at least in a regular airline-style passenger seat. Seating on the C-130 was a little more rugged – specifically cargo netting hung from the wall of the plane with a seat belt attached. I was handed a boxed lunch and a set of ear plugs. In addition to all the pallets of cargo the plane was packed with, a woman was also traveling with her two small children.

Thankfully, the flight from Okinawa to Fukuoka was brief and uneventful. From Fukuoka, we took a ride two hours south by van to the base affectionately known as Commander, Fleet Activities Sasebo. The van pulled through the gates at around 10:30 that morning. The USS Belleau Wood had departed just two hours earlier at 8:30 a.m. I was dropped off at the base personnel office to show them my orders.

The young girl working at the front desk briefly looked over my orders. “Okay, so you’re here to go aboard the USS Belleau Wood. She just left and isn’t due back for about two weeks. We’ll set you up in a room until then.” I stopped her. “I’m sorry. I was told by the public affairs officer on the Belleau Wood that I would need to be sent out to meet the ship. They need me there for an upcoming port visit,” I said. As I spoke, her bright smile turned to a bit of a scowl. “Oh,” she said derisively, “You’re the one they were talking about. Let me get our lead personnelman to talk to you.”

I waited at the desk for a few moments. A Personnelman First Class came up to greet me, “Petty Officer Kaminski. I understand we need to send you out to meet the Belleau Wood. Feel free to leave your bags here and head down the street to grab a bite to eat if you’d like. We should have a better idea of how we can help you in about an hour and a half,” he said. I thanked him, deposited my sea bags behind the counter and went off to grab a sandwich.

Sasebo was a relatively small and sleepy base. Most of the American military activity in Japan was either to the north just outside of Tokyo or to the south on the island of Okinawa. Besides the ships based in Sasebo’s port, the only other distinguishing characteristic may have been its armory. It was big. Very big. Like, if a Wile E. Coyote style explosion occurred, half of Japan would sink into the ocean big.

I made my way to a small strip of indoor restaurants, ordered myself some lunch and just hung out people watching for a bit. Soon enough, I made my way back to the personnel office to see what they had come up with.

“Kaminski, I think we’ve got everything figured out for you here,” said the personnelman first class. “What’s going to happen is this: You’ll stay here overnight in the Transient Personnel Department. A van will be by to pick you up there at 5 a.m. tomorrow morning to drive you back to Fukuoka airport. From there, you’ll take a civilian aircraft to Naha International airport in Okinawa. We’re trying to reach someone from the Belleau Wood now, but we’ll ensure that someone from the ship is there to meet you at the airport. From there, they’ll take you to White Beach where they’ll be taking on Marines and their supplies and you’ll be on your way. Any questions?” he asked.

“You’re absolutely sure that someone will be there from the Belleau Wood to meet me at Naha? I only ask because I’m not exactly familiar with this country, oh, at all.” He smiled, “We will make sure someone from the ship is there. No worries. If you head outside, I’ll have one of our people drop you off at TPD for the night.” I thanked him and gathered all of my stuff to meet the van outside.

The Transient Personnel Department (TPD) was just a five minute drive on the other side of the base. I checked in at the front desk and was given a wool blanket and linens and then directed to a room with four beds, one of which was already occupied. I put the bedding down, put my sea bags in a locker and went outside for a walk. I ended up walking around the bay, past the personnel office which I had been to earlier that afternoon and to the section of the base where the U.S. ships were berthed. The empty area where I imagined the Belleau Wood docked was huge. All of the other ships were currently in port, including the USS Fort McHenry, USS Dubuque and two small minesweepers, the USS Patriot and USS Guardian.

On my way back to TPD, I grabbed a quick bite for dinner and slowly meandered back to my room. There I showered, made up the bed, set an alarm and promptly went to sleep. I woke up at 4 a.m. and gathered my things. I dressed in civilian clothes as I would be flying on commercial airlines this time around. The van showed up right at 5 a.m. and I was on my way back to Fukuoka. I slept almost the entire bus ride there.

This time, instead of taking me to commercial hangars where business and military planes landed and took off, I was taken to the regular departure gate and politely pointed toward the ticket counter by my driver. I thanked him profusely as I grabbed my sea bags and headed into the terminal.

Taking a quick look around, I realized that I was pretty much screwed if I had any questions or issues. I couldn’t read anything but the most basic sign or pictograph. I cautiously handed my ticket and military ID to the agent at the ANA (All Nippon Airways) desk. She politely checked in my bags, lugged them onto the conveyor belt, handed me my boarding pass and pointed toward the terminal I was departing from. I smiled and bowed a little bit toward her, having no idea what was either customary or downright insulting here in Japan.

I found the proper gate and waited with my carry on bag. About 30 minutes later, they called for boarding. I found my seat and settled in. Just prior to departure, an airline attendant came around and gave everyone a warm, wet hand towel. Not familiar with the practice, I attempted to sneak glances at those around me to see just what they were doing with this thing. Of course, they were washing their hands with it. Duh. I ran the towel over my hands and then handed it back to the airline attendant once she came back through the cabin.

Within an hour, my flight from Fukuoka to Naha in Okinawa touched down on the runway. I went inside the terminal, gathered my sea bags from the baggage claim and waited. And waited. And waited.

It may sound like an awful stereotype, but at the time, not having any familiarity with the Japanese language, I was simply desperate to find even one person who appeared like they might speak English.

After an hour, no one had arrived yet from the USS Belleau Wood to collect me. Nervously, I lugged all of my belongings up to the desk which, in addition to many other languages, said “Information” in English. I smiled at the young Japanese woman working behind the counter.

“Do you speak English?” I asked, as any other tourist would most likely inquire. “Yes, how may I help you?” she responded in a slow, breathy tone. “I’m supposed to meet someone here from a U.S. Navy ship called the USS Belleau Wood. Do you know of anywhere they could be?” I asked.

She pondered the question for a moment and then began to shake her head a bit at the request. “I am sorry, I do not have any information to assist you,” she kindly responded. I thanked her and stepped aside.

And with that, I was on my own and feeling pretty much doomed. Foreigner in a strange land, doesn’t know the language and no one there to help them. The first thought I had was a simple and direct, “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Also, this was in the age before cell phones were popular – at least for people like me. (They were all over Japan already by that time.) I had no numbers of anyone to call and really no idea what I should be doing next. So, I did what any other person would do: I went outside for some air and a place to think.

I plopped my bags on the curb, stood and waited. For what, I had no earthly idea. Either way, I must have looked absolutely pathetic. About 30 minutes had passed when I heard a voice off in the distance, in English and calling to me from down the block. “Yo! Where are you headed?” he asked me. I turned to see a tall U.S. Marine Master Sergeant in battle dress uniform (camouflage, for you civilians) walking toward me.

“I’m a sailor being assigned to the USS Belleau Wood. Someone from the ship is supposed to be here to pick me up,” I responded. “Well shipmate, you’re shit out of luck. There was a typhoon last night. She’s still out to sea,” he said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Nope. That’s what happens with you Navy boys,” he said, grabbing one of my sea bags. “My truck is parked just down the block. I’ll give you a lift to Kadena Air [Force] base and you can check in there. They’ll be able to find out if the ship was able to dock and when you might be able to head out to White Beach to go on board,” he said, already walking with my sea bag at a brisk pace toward his truck. I quickly threw the other bag over my shoulder and jumped up to follow him.

Within 30 minutes, we were being waved through the security gate at Kadena and he pulled up to the personnel office to drop me off. Words can probably not express the level to which I thanked the master sergeant that day. I offered to pay for his gas, pay him money for his time and trouble (and possibly even offered to donate a vital organ should he need it at some point in the future). He declined all forms of compensation, said he was just doing his job and was on his way back to his base. Meaning he didn’t even work at Kadena Air Force base!

The folks at the personnel department set me up with a room for the night and told me to check back with them in the morning as they would most likely have more information then. I made the bed, ordered some food from a place on base that did delivery and settled in for the night.

The next morning, I put on a working uniform (powder blue shirt and denim bell bottom dungarees – sexy, I know) and went down to the personnel office. They told me that they had been able to make contact with the Belleau Wood and I was free to check out of their room and head to the dock in White Beach to go aboard as soon as I could gather my things.

I went back to the room, changed into a summer white “ice cream man” uniform and packed up all of my things. I handed the keys in to the personnel department and they directed me to the base taxi stand.

As I approached the lead car, the rear passenger side door opened to greet me and the driver, wearing a formal uniform including a cap and white gloves, stepped out of the car to greet me and put my bags in the trunk. “And where are you heading today, sir?” he asked me in impeccable English. “The dock at White Beach,” I said. He looked at me oddly for a moment, as if he was searching a map in his head. “Yes, White Beach. Absolutely. Please get in,” he said, gesturing toward the open rear door. He stowed my sea bags in the trunk and we were off.

The journey took us through a number of cities and towns. Just over an hour later, the cab pulled up to the gate at White Beach. From the back seat of the cab, I could see the Belleau Wood docked at the end of a long pier. The activity to and from the ship appeared like ants coming and going from a colony. After being waved through, the driver made his way to the beginning of the pier and pulled up to drop me off. I apologized for not having Japanese Yen on hand. He was more than happy to accept American dollars in payment (Okinawa is the only place in Japan I’ve ever known where they nearly always insist upon it).

I lugged my gear down the long pier toward the ship. As I got closer, I realized something pretty obvious: the Belleau Wood was freaking huge. Not only that, the ship was in the process of taking on tons and tons of gear and personnel – specifically around 1,900 U.S. Marines and all of their weapons of destruction. It became quickly apparent to me that this ship was truly made to start and end a war almost entirely on its own.

I climbed multiple flights of stairs with all of my bags (would someone please remind me to pack lighter next time?) to make it to the gangway. While going across, I turned briefly to salute the American flag on the fantail and asked the petty officer on watch permission to come aboard. Permission was granted and I handed him my orders. And with that I was on my way to becoming a seafarer – at least for a little while.

- Scott Kaminski

* - All names have been changed.