It’s a Legal Matter, Baby

The night before I was scheduled to begin, I made sure the creases in my dungaree uniform were particularly crisp, especially considering that the Judge Advocate General (JAG) Office was located in the headquarters building of the base in Sasebo. The last thing you want to do is run into the Captain of the base looking like a complete and total slob.

I arrived early and was introduced to everyone attached to the JAG office including Legalman First Class Cynthia Haynes, Legalman Chief Bill Wettig, the base JAG officer Lieutenant Claude Hickman and Aoki, a civilian Japanese lawyer who handled translations for the office as well as any disputes between the base and Japanese authorities.

After exchanging formalities and being offered a cup of coffee, I was tasked with my first official job in the office: copying case files. The first one happened to include the autopsy pictures of a sailor who had recently died of a heart attack while playing softball. The second one, was much more gruesome. Chief Wettig even warned me that I didn’t have to do it if I didn’t want to.

A little background: Sasebo is home to one of the largest U.S. military armories in the world. As it was told to me, if a fire ever sparked in that place, practically half the island of Kyushu would be blown up and sink into the sea (although I’m not sure if the science used to make that correlation is sound, there’s a lot of ammo there). That armory is protected by a battalion of U.S. Marines. At some point before I arrived to TPD, there was a hazing incident which took place in the Marine barracks. One of the Marines who was scheduled to be charged in the hazing was on sentry duty one night in the armory. Rather than face charges, he chose to take his own life by sticking a 12-gauge shogun in his mouth and pulling the trigger. That resulting crime scene (and the autopsy which followed) was what I was being asked to photocopy. Not a pretty sight. And, not a really fun way to start your first day at the office.

Toward the end of the day, Aoki asked me to briefly join her in her office. She gestured for me to a seat. While Aoki’s English was very good, she spoke in a very proper, yet breathy manner. “They referred to you as ‘J-O-3 Ka-min-ski.’ Tell me, what does the ‘J-O’ in ‘J-O-3’ stand for?” she asked.

“The JO stands for Journalist. I previously worked as a print and broadcast journalist,” I replied.

“Excellent. So if I have any questions about English, I should come to you then?” she asked.

“You’re certainly welcome to. I would be happy to help in any way that I can,” I said.

“Great. Thank you so much. I see it’s getting close to 5 p.m. and I must be off the gym. Please have a nice evening. I will see you tomorrow,” she grabbed a gym bag and headed out the door.

As I got up and reached the door, Chief Wettig caught me. “Good job today. I already talked to Chief Remington. You’ll be working here from now on. See you tomorrow.” I went back to TPD, got changed and went out to grab some dinner and a drink. It was nice to feel appreciated again at work.    

While it wasn’t journalism, I was happy to be doing something other than planting flowers or mowing lawns full-time. Those are perfectly respectable activities, just not what I would choose to do on a daily basis.

The days in the JAG office varied widely. One moment I could be filing documents and another I could be asked to write letters for submission to Chief Wettig, Lieutenant Hickman or even Commander Barker, the base’s executive officer (second in command).

For whatever reason, Commander Barker spent a good bit of time in the JAG office. Eventually, I learned a bit about her family (she was married to a Naval Reservist – also a Commander – and had two children). Also, I learned about what a complete a total jackass the base’s commanding officer, Captain Berger was. A total chauvinist, Berger had little to no respect for Commander Barker and often left her out of meetings, instead choosing to maintain a “boy’s club” atmosphere on base with his other, male department heads. I always found Commander Barker to be an incredibly bright and very talented leader. She was also not someone that I would want to cross in any way. More on that later.

Eventually, I was taken off the duty roster for TPD. I still lived in the building, but was almost entirely assigned to headquarters. In addition to my role in the JAG office, I also at times assisted the base’s public affairs office from time to time. Lastly, I also formed a relationship with Chief Coogan, the enlisted leader of the military police force on the base as well as the two NCIS agents assigned to work in the region.

Working in the JAG office turned out to be a good gig for me. At the time, personal email was becoming an easier way to communicate with people back home rather than mortgaging my internal organs to pay for phone cards. I went to sign up for a personal email address through Hotmail and was asked to come up with a unique modifier. At the time, all I could think of was a buddy of mine from Diego Garcia going around and re-enacting Mike Myers doing “Sprockets” from Saturday Night Live and talking about, “Oh, you sassy monkey!” I laughed a bit to myself and typed “sassymonkey” into the field. That action was returned with a, “Congratulations, your new email address is: sassymonkey@hotmail.com” [Editor’s Note: I stopped using this email address a few years ago. Please don’t send to it, as it most likely now belongs to someone else with an even worse sense of humor than me.] I looked twice at the computer screen and muttered to myself, “Nice job, Scott.”

Soon enough, I was given my very own key to the headquarters building which meant I could come and go as I pleased – I often spent a good portion of my time on the weekends using the office computers and responding to emails.

Things where good. And they were about to get slightly more complicated for me. In a few different ways.

- Scott Kaminski

* - All names have been changed.