THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, June 29, 1996 TAG: 9606290040
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ROSEMARY GOUDREAU, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: 129 lines
AT DUSK, a line of about 50 men swab the deck of the Enterprise, pushing brooms through soapy-sud clouds up and down the 1,100-foot length of the carrier. The men are sweeping away residual oil left by the liftoffs and touchdowns of the carrier's 80-some aircraft.
It's mid-May, and the Enterprise is heading back to port in Norfolk, to prepare for its June 28 deployment to the Mediterranean. This is a night of chores.
As dusk fades to dark, a supply ship pulls alongside the carrier to replenish its supply of aviation fuel. The two gray behemoths move together through the Atlantic at about 15 knots, only 100 feet apart. It's as though downtown Portsmouth crossed the Elizabeth River and planted itself next to Norfolk's financial district.
To couple the ships for the refueling, sailors fire weighted lines across the divide and secure them. Tradition calls for gift boxes of cookies to be the first items exchanged across the ropes. The cookies go to the captain.
The sailors on deck exchange another box. The men of the Enterprise send a surprise: grilled cheese sandwiches.
Grilled cheese. It's the crew's all-time favorite food.
Food is one of the few pleasures on board the alcohol-free ship, so the men feel strongly about it.
Capt. Mike Malone knows the men's affinity for the sandwich. On his weekly closed-circuit television show, Malone takes questions. A frequent query: ``Why isn't grilled cheese served more often?''
In May, to celebrate the last day of a training exercise, the ship's galley served grilled cheese.
The sandwich bread, not surprisingly, is made by the book.
On the Enterprise, the baker's rhythm goes something like this: Cut a slab of dough, punch, punch. Fold from the left, fold from the right, fold from the top, fold from the bottom. Hand heel scuff, hand heel scuff. Slap it down, put it in a pan.
Cut another slab of dough.
It takes longer to describe than to do.
Despite the sailor's insistence that the best chow of any military service is Navy food, there is no mouth-watering aroma in the Enterprise's galley, no sensory compulsion to look under the lids. The chef says the overhead ventilation systems swill the smells together, mixing the aroma of scallops with beef gravy with liver and onions. The result leaves you flat.
Civilian visitors to the galley are rare. Most people lucky enough to come aboard the Enterprise plant themselves close to the flight deck, where they can feel the power of the jet engines and watch the catapult hurl planes from zero to 120 mph, and into the air, in two seconds.
The bakers are happy to see someone new and talk about life below deck. They're happy to answer any question other than: ``Can you make the bread less crusty, more spongy - kind of like Wonder Bread?''
The bread is hard because policy calls for no additives or preservatives. No real need for them, given that the Enterprise goes through 800 loaves of bread a day - 1,600 when the galley serves grilled cheese.
Sailors newly assigned to the Enterprise spend plenty of time in the galley. KP duty is mandatory for newcomers: three months of cleaning tables, scrubbing the floors and helping run the dishwashing system.
But KP no longer means hours of peeling potatoes. Today's Navy has a mechanical potato peeler - a huge steel drum with a sandpaper-like bottom that spins and scuffs off potato skins.
Another tradition hangs tough, though. The Navy still serves SOS - (something) on a shingle - also known as creamed chipped beef on toast. The dish is regularly posted on the monthly meal planner, which brings to mind the question:
Why isn't grilled cheese served more often?
Up on the bridge, Capt. Malone's eyes dart from screen to gauges. There's no doubt who's in command, yet Malone says he tries to balance his take-charge instincts with the need to let good people do their jobs. Sometimes it's tough, he says; he likes to be part of the action. But he's confident in his crew and takes a moment to recognize by name those around him.
Unlike CEOs of what would be similar-sized corporations, Malone doesn't get to choose his key people. He can only choose those he doesn't want - by having them reassigned. You can't do that too often, he says, or people will perceive you to be the problem.
About two hours into the aviation refueling operation, Malone picks up the handset of an old black telephone.
``C.O. to C.O.,'' Malone says, addressing his peer on the supply ship. Malone suggests running a drill - an emergency breakaway.
Moments later, a deep horn blares, sending the surprised crew into action to disconnect the huge black fuel hoses from the Enterprise.
As the ships start to separate, there seems to be a problem unhooking a line at the rear. The ships' forward sections move apart, but their tails come closer together. Tension mounts on the bridge. Malone reaches for the black phone and hails his counterpart just as the line comes undone.
The ships go their own ways.
Tradition demands that, after a ship has been supplied at sea, it salutes the supply ship with a song.
``Can you guess what our song is?'' the captain of the Enterprise asks.
From powerful loudspeakers, across the ship, into the night, the answer rises in a thunderous crescendo - the theme music from ``Star Trek: The Next Generation.''
At night, sailors sometimes go to the fantail to relax and watch the luminescent water in the ship's wake. This quiet section juts from the back of the carrier like a duck's tail.
As we watch the water, a line of sailors approaches, each carrying on his shoulder a huge bag of garbage. One by one, they fling their load into the sea, leaving behind a bobbing dotted line of biodegradable sacks.
Women are not part of the Enterprise's regular crew because the 35-year-old ship has not been refitted to accommodate them. So female visitors are assigned to officers' quarters, which sounds better than it is.
I spend the night in a cabin with one bed, already spoken for by a female officer temporarily serving on the ship, and a three-level bunk. Each rack has blue curtain panels for privacy.
Around 1 a.m., my cabin mate returns from duty and clambers into bed. At 4 a.m., her alarm goes off.
``You can't be getting up already,'' I say. ``You just went to bed.''
She says she is accustomed to working these hours.
Officers usually get four hours sleep, crew members more. But everyone work long hours at sea. There's a lot of work to be done, and idle time can lead to mischief.
The night is over. The ship finally docks in Norfolk. Still, it takes more than two hours to tie things up before anyone can leave the ship.
The pier is filled with anxious people, all looking up to the deck for someone special. Up top, anxious men in blue look down, waving excitedly. Many sailors have no one to greet them, but they scan the crowd just in case.
They're free to leave when the command master chief calls, ``Liberty!''
For the next few days, the men of the Enterprise are on their own.
The Big E will be waiting, primed for its next trip to sea. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
The Enterprise at sea
Color photos by ROSEMARY GOUDREAU
A jet approaches the carrier...
Ship's cooks at work...
KEYWORDS: ENTERPRISE BATTLE GROUP by CNB