Chapter One: From BUDS to Brazil
“Let’s go for a run”, my older brother, Ted, barked! It was 7:00AM and he had been out until wee hours of the morning, eyes bloodshot, hung over and reeking of stale beer. I had no idea what he was talking about, “A run, how far?” The answer that came back created more consternation: “Thirty minutes”, he replied. I was not sure what was in store for me but was usually game to try anything, once. Near the end of the run, 200 yards before finishing, Ted sprinted ahead leaving me in his ‘dust’, the last words I heard as he shot past me, “Let’s shake it off!” Stumbling in at the end of the run, gasping for breath and light-headed, I was clearly spent, finished, and shaky all over.
Somehow I was coerced into another thirty minutes of rigorous physical training (PT) exercises. Now in the backyard I was being drilled in pushups, sit-ups, leg lifts, flutter kicks, good-morning-darlings and other unknown tortures I had never conceived of much less done. It didn’t take long for that all too familiar visceral sensation to emanate from deep within my gut and I knew instantly what was coming. Not knowing what else Ted had in his repertoire I knew only that I had just been thumped and ass-kicked, and was ready to puke.
Ted had just completed some of the most arduous training known in the United States military, the Navy’s Underwater Demolition Training or BUDS as it is now referred. He was on his way from Little Creek, Virginia to his Team Eleven assignment in Coronado, California, and was stopping off in Detroit to visit and pay respects to our mom. As a sophomore at the University of Michigan, I drove from Ann Arbor to see Ted for the weekend. Still recovering from the weekend drubbing I returned to Ann Arbor, Michigan wondering what had hit me, the grilling indelibly lodged in my mind. The draft board was now after me and I had received a notice that allowed me just enough time to complete my undergraduate degree before reporting for induction into the army. After a few months I decided that volunteering for the U.S. Navy was a better option and signed up for Naval Officer Candidate School (OCS).
Fast forward three years. After finishing my degree at the university and then being commissioned an Ensign at OCS in Newport, RI, I was apprehensive---, no, petrified----, to volunteer for the BUDS training Ted had successfully completed. I knew all too well from Ted the attrition rate was 80%. Enduring this training program with a thin 20% completion rate caused me immeasurable trepidation. I knew I was not interested in serving aboard any U.S. Navy ship, “grey ghosts” we used to call them. Ultimately I wanted to serve in a small specialized team environment and my eyes were not good enough to fly jets. The challenge of BUDS, unassailable physical conditioning, and keeping up with my brother kept creeping back in to my head. I signed up for the initial screening and was fortunate enough to be one of the five out of thirty OCS candidates to be recommended and admitted to BUDS. The downside was huge for me but the upside was so exhilarating I committed to the program. Six and a half demanding months later, four years after my backyard drubbing, I finished BUDS, now forged into an underwater demolitioner, a UDT man, a Navy frogman. Twenty-five who finished our class (wc-32) out of 130 who started training in Coronado wore the UDT patch humbly but very proudly. Following Airborne Training at Fort Benning, Georgia I went to visit Ted, now living in Cincinnati, and it didn’t take me long to say “Let’s go for a run!” With years of perspective I am grateful to him for leading the way and that I was able to follow.
During the 2 ½ years I was in the teams we worked hard and played hard, took our responsibilities seriously but made sure that we enjoyed life. We were trained in reconnaissance, diving, demolitions, and parachuting. A typical day found us jumping out of airplanes in the morning, blowing up obstacles in the afternoon, performing a reconnaissance at night and then drinking beer while embellishing our day’s deeds well into the early morning “last call”. We were living hard and fast, life was good, very good.
My experience included two tours to the western Pacific, WESPAC we called it, based in Subic Bay, Philippine Islands. From Subic we deployed to Viet Nam for various operations that supported amphibious landings, intelligence gathering, and recovery of downed aircraft. During deployments the team and the officers became closer, as hard work forged deep friendships and mutual respect. My training classmate and teammate Larry Graham, and other officers bonded together with reciprocal admiration.
Eventually operations took us beyond our normal hinterland boundary, “in-country” we called it, where missions started exceeding our capabilities. Our superiors had not comprehended these new ops but the newly commissioned SEAL Teams formed out of the UDT Teams were training for these missions and were coming on line. These guys learned first hand from experience making improvements over time. I returned to Viet Nam for a second tour but with new officers. By now Lt. Larry Graham was ensconced in a support billet at Naval Operations Group (NOSG) which was in overall command of the UDT/SEAL Teams, was abruptly transferred or coerced into SEAL Team One where he was given advanced SEAL training: ambushes, intelligence gathering, body snatches and direct action missions.
When I returned to the States from my second Viet Nam tour in Jan 1967, I was requested to extend my military obligation 1-2 years and transfer to SEAL Team One, which would include more training for ‘in-country’ operations. I turned this request down because: 1) something was not going right with this seemingly un-winnable VN War and I knew that I would have to return there, again, very soon; 2) a graduate degree in engineering was one of my life’s goals; 3) I had never planned on making the U.S. Navy a career. Upward mobility for a UDT/SEAL officer was severely limited, making a career a dead end. In 1967 the most senior officer in the Special Warfare community was one U.S. Navy Captain however, 20 years later that billet would become an Admiral; 4) Although I was not married I somehow felt raising a family in a military environment would reduce my odds of a successful relationship and the teams had an astonishingly high divorce rate. Coming from a broken family this was not an option for me.
I opted to get out, reluctantly, and did so with plans to ski for a couple of months before beginning an engineering graduate degree at the University of Michigan. Leaving the Navy was like speeding along at 100 miles per hour and suddenly being thrown into first gear, all revved up and no place to focus excess energy. In retrospect this was not an easy transition, especially when I loved so much the camaraderie, the action, the physical challenges…….the drinking. My former commanding officer, Jack Viera, offered me the executive officer’s billet onboard his amphibious ship, the USS Weiss which I did not accept. Chris Stack, a BUDS classmate, and I left the Navy in Feb. 1967 with grand plans to ski the western United States before going our separate ways, launching our longer term, albeit somewhat fuzzy, future plans. Skiing took our minds off the inevitable; we skied Mammoth, Squaw Valley, Mt. Hood, Sun Valley and finally Aspen over the next two months. It was a great time but it all came too quickly to an end. The realities and responsibilities of life intruded – as they have a way of doing.
At the end of March 1967, after Chris and I parted company in Chicago, I drove on to Detroit, collected my gear, hugged my mom and headed off to Ann Arbor, Michigan. I began working for the City of Ann Arbor, a mundane job that should have been right down my Industrial Engineering alley, but my psyche was all pent up, still racing in special warfare high gear. Soon I would be taking a summer school class and working at the same time. I was unhappy laboring in a job I didn’t like and was not looking forward to competing in academia, still grading on a curve, with younger colleagues who were incredibly smart. Hundred fifty dollar four function T.I. calculators owned by nerds had replaced my perfectly suitable, now out moded, slide rule. It had only been four years – my head hurt! The difficulty of my transition was further exacerbated when I encountered and endured more liberal student attitudes and hippies, many protesting a war I had just spent three years fighting. I was quietly bitter, angry, restless, and kept a low profile. Where were my buddies – the action; leaping from airplanes, blowing stuff up and raising holy Hell? It was a dream gone awry. I was miserable, lonely and out of touch. I had teammates in Viet Nam, asses on the line, serving their country. I used to get paid for what I loved to do; now I had to pay for what I didn’t even like.
When the word arrived it was a shock. It was not the first time a teammate was lost to the Viet Cong but now it hit hard and it hurt. 7 April 1967 Dan Mann was killed in an ambush with several others wounded, including a training classmate, Larry Graham, the platoon commander. It was so surreal, so far away and yet so close to those with whom I served and loved. What was I doing here all cocooned away in graduate school with so many I couldn’t relate to?
With Larry’s wounds, staying in the Navy was not a viable option for him. While he was recovering from a major wrist injury and multiple shrapnel punctures he needed to channel his energy. He decided to leave the Navy and start his own company, Western Continental Progress Corp. (WCPC). In the midst of launching his company, getting financing and organizing his first venture, he required help and requested it. He needed someone to go down to Brazil, South America. In July he called me in Ann Arbor," Michael, how would you like to go to Brazil to mine diamonds?”
Unhappy with my job and the protesting hippies, still not getting my head around being a student again, I was deeply discouraged. Keen for adventure and not wanting to let a good friend and wounded classmate down, I leaped at the opportunity, “You got it, I’m ready, when and where do I show up?” Shortly I flew to Texas and met Larry for a few days at his ranch in Hunt, not far from San Antonio. We talked about the business, the adventure, and did some planning, establishing time frames for the first phase of this Brazilian operation. Larry had also convinced another military officer, Dick Cullerton, whom I did not know, to participate in this adventure. I would meet Dick shortly. Although we didn’t realize it at the time, years later, Larry would express how crucial our participation in this adventure was and how much it meant to him as he recovered from his wounds and Viet Nam tour.
I finished my graduate course, quit my part time job, packed my gear and told my mom that I was leaving and unable to tell her where, exactly. Come to think of it I may not even have told her I had gone to Viet Nam. I was off then to Washington, D.C. where I met up with Dick, an ex Navy CB (SEABEE), whom I would partner with in this grand scheme; but first we had to learn Portuguese.
For five weeks we immersed ourselves five hours a day, one instructor and two of us. We lived with a good friend of Larry Graham’s in Bethesda, MD, Eddy Nisewaner, and commuted everyday to downtown D.C. for Portuguese immersion classes. The Brazilian instructor told us we would experience a massive culture shock when we arrived in Brazil. Both of us having two Viet Nam tours under our belts, we made light of her concerns and put the notion aside. After language training we bid fond farewells to D.C. friends and departed to our respective homes to get ready.
I zipped home in my trusty 1963 Porsche, confirmed my mother’s worst fears that I really was going to do what I said; packed my gear and headed to San Diego. I stopped off to visit the parents of a good friend, Mr. & Mrs. Yonkers in Kansas City, for a couple of days before hitting the road again. I had grown up with their son, Charlie, and they were like my second parents. In retrospect after explaining what I was about to jump into, I believe they thought I was certifiably unbalanced – and justifiably so. I arrived in San Diego where I met up with Larry Graham and we got very busy completing all sorts of tasks in preparation for Dick’s and my departure for Belem, the city at the mouth of the Amazon River.
Basic Underwater Demolition & SEAL Training (BUDS) Coronado, CA, Class 32, summer 1964
