Commentary: ‘Good job, Boats’

I heard from one of my old Navy shipmates that the USS Juneau (LPD-10) will be sunk as a SINKEX target this summer. The USS Dubuque (LPD-8) went down the same way back in 2024. Those are the two ships I served on during my enlistment.

I joined in 1996 right after high school. After basic training I was sent to the fleet. I asked for West Coast, and got Japan. I ended up in deck department and became a boatswain’s mate: I worked the deck, needle-gunning, wire brushing, painting over rust, etc. Eventually got put in charge of things I had no business being in charge of as a 20 year old. Being a “Gator Navy” (Navy’s amphibious warfare fleet) boatswain’s mate meant doing a lot of different complex jobs. A lot to learn and a lot of responsibility.

I was a pretty angry and untethered young man during my first year. I did the whole cliche drunken fighting sailor thing. Went to Captain’s Mast a couple times. But then something switched in me. I wanted to drive the boat (7 meter RHIB) and that honor only went very squared away sailors. I applied myself and eventually I was made the ship’s ready lifeboat coxswain. I was in charge of the boat, the boat deck, and drove the boat for all operations. I was good at it, and I loved it.

During my troubled times I remember two people specifically who refused to accept that I was anything less than a good sailor. Bos’n Gray and Chief Jagel. They were hard on me but had my back, and I knew it, and that gave me confidence and room to grow. But it was true of all my shipmates I became close with. We didn’t have the words or maturity back then to describe it, but we cocooned and supported each other. I haven’t seen some of those guys since, but I know I could see them tomorrow and it’d just click back in.

There’s a leadership story I tell more than any other.

I was assigned as Rig Captain for an underway replenishment on the Dubuque. That’s the sailor in the yellow hardhat who runs the deck: shot line goes over, fuel line comes back, you connect it, you gas up the ship, you send it back. If something went wrong people could die. Not everybody got the yellow hat. It was my first time and I was nervous.
The safety officer was Senior Chief Boatswain’s Mate McClellan, a grumpy old salt, in the white hardhat. The operation was going smoothly, I thought, but two or three times Senior Chief walked up and barked at me. “Have Harrington do this. Tell Jones to do that.” Every time I said aye aye and passed the order along.

The operation went off without a hitch. We were stowing gear when Senior Chief walked over, grabbed me by my lifejacket, and said: “Next time I’m wearing this hat and you’re wearing that hat and I come up and tell you to have somebody do something, I want you to say, ‘F--- you, Senior Chief, I got this.’” Then he patted me on the back. “Good job, boats.”

The news that Mighty J is going to be sunk feels like a closing of the book on my service time. I’m proud to have served in the U.S. Navy, but I also feel lucky. It saved my life.

•••

Rob Richards is a Navy veteran and former congressional staffer who has been an active community member in Thurston County for over two decades. To submit an opinion piece to the Thurston Chronicle, email news@thurstonchronicle.com