Paul Davis On Crime: My Crime Fiction: 'Go Forth, Goforth'

The story below is another chapter from my novel Olongapo.

The story originally appeared in American Crime Magazine.

Go Forth, Goforth

By Paul Davis

While eating MIDRATS (midnight rations) in the galley of the USS Kitty Hawk as the aircraft carrier was on “Yankee Station” in the Gulf of Tonkin off the coast of North Vietnam in 1971, I sat with another seaman who had trained with me at the U.S. Navy Recruit Training Center at Great Lakes, Ill (aka Boot Camp) the year before.

Although I disliked George Goforth in Boot Camp, I invited him over to my table when he called out my name. We discussed the barracks thief we had in our recruit company and reminisced about our company commander, BM1 Schmidt, a gruff old coot. Goforth had nothing but good things about Schmidt, but I disliked Schmidt even more than I disliked Goforth.

Our discussion then turned to our Boot Camp liberty day in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We had a day of liberty earlier in the month, and I had traveled alone to Chicago. I met a pretty girl there and I planned to return to Chicago and meet up with her again.

But several of my friends urged me to join them as they traveled to Milwaukee. On their previous day of liberty they found a bar that served young sailors without asking for an ID card.

As I was only 17 at the time, this was an inducement. Plus, I thought to myself that I had joined the Navy to see new places, and as I had seen Chicago, I should venture to another new place.

I got on the bus to Milwaukee with a couple of friends I made in Boot Camp, but I was not pleased to see that Goforth, a recruit petty officer from North Carolina that Schmidt appointed, was among our gang. Goforth, whom I thought was dumb as a rock, was often on my case in an effort to suck up to Schnidt, once he saw that the company commander didn’t like me.

Goforth, stocky and about five years older than me, looked much older as he had a hard face that looked like it was carved from the side of a mountain.

The bar the other recruits raved about was five blocks from the bus station. As we walked to the bar down a street, Goforth proclaimed in a loud voice, “Goddam! I ain’t never seen no city as big as this!”

O’Leary, an Irish guy from Boston, looked at me and we just shrugged.

“I’m embarrassed to walk with this hick,” O’Leary said as he stepped back a step from Goforth.

At the bar, a small, old-fashioned taproom, we all ordered bottles of Schlitz, the beer, so they say, that made Milwaukee famous. Although I thought it was cool to be able to drink at the bar while underaged, I was disappointed to see that there were very few girls at the bar. I was a girl-crazy young man, and I was hoping to meet a local beauty. Sadly, it didn’t look like that was going to happen here.

I stood at the bar and looked around, and I saw that the only girls there were with a group of five guys in their 20ths at two tables. One of those girls, an attractive brunette, came up beside me and ordered drinks from the bartender. I smiled at her, and she said, “Hey, you’re cute. Where are you from?”

“Philadelphia. Where are you from?” I said, trying to be clever.

“Here! I’m from here. You’re funny.”

Suddenly a bulky slob appeared on the other side of her. He did not look happy.

“You trying to make time with my girl?” He asked with a sneer.

I didn’t answer but the girl looked at him and said, “Carl, I was just saying hello to the sailor.”

Carl poked my arm with his index finger.

“Want to step outside with me, you fuckin’ sailor?”

I turned and faced him. He was broad and about four inches taller than me.

“Now I’m sure you know we can’t get into fights, as we’ll end up in the brig, or else you wouldn’t be so brave,” I replied.

Carl looked like he was about to throw a punch, and I prepared to turn my head to the side to slip the blow, which I was trained to do in the boxing ring at the South Philly Boys Club.

But then Goforth stepped in alongside me.

“We can’t start no fights,” Goforth told Carl. “But we will testify that y’all threw the first punch and Davis here was just defending hisself when he kicked you ass.”

Carl looked surprised.

“You see, Davis here is our middleweight boxing champ.”

Carl took the girl’s arm and turned to his friends at the tables.

“Let’s get out of here. There are too many fuckin’ sailors here.”

As the locals walked out of the bar, I looked at Goforth and laughed.

“Boxing champ?”

“What the fuck do he know?”

I bought Goforth a beer and a shot of whiskey.

I’m sure Milwaukee has some interesting sights, and some pretty girls, but we never left the bar until we walked, or more accurately, staggered, from the bar to the bus station.

About a week later, Goforth came up to me and said that Schmidt ordered us to report to the base’s galley for “mess duty” (known as KP in the Army, or kitchen police).

We walked over to the large galley and entered through a back door. Goforth reported to a petty officer cook, and the cook told us to empty the trash and garbage cans in the corner and then wash them.

“This is why I joined the Navy,” I said to Goforth. “I wanted glamour and adventure.”

Goforth laughed.

As we walked towards the overflowing cans, we saw a scrawny brig prisoner mopping, or swabbing, as we say in the Navy, the deck, which is what we called a floor in the Navy.

The prisoner, guarded by a Marine with a nightstick on his belt, had his head shaven clean, even closer than recruits’ shaved heads, and his blue shirt was buttoned tight at the neck and the sleeves.

“What are you fuckin’ Boots lookin’ at?” the prisoner said in a surly voice.

“Shup up and do the deck,” the young Marine said to the prisoner.

The prisoner looked hard at the Marine and then hit him in the nose with the wooden mop handle. The Marine went down dazed with a bloody nose. The prisoner raised the mop handle to strike the Marine again as he lay on the deck.

Goforth rushed the prisoner and shoved him hard against a metal counter. The prisoner dropped the mop, but he picked up a carving knife from the countertop and grabbed Goforth. He placed the knife against Goforth’s throat.

The petty officer cook who told us to clean the trash cans tried to reason with the prisoner.

“Hey! You gonna go from the brig to prison if you hurt that good ole boy.”

A crown gathered in the galley as the desperate prisoner held the knife on Goforth. There was a standoff until two petty officers in green fatigues and caps and high black combat boots entered the galley.

The crowd parted and allowed one of the Navy SEAL special operators to face the prisoner.

“Get back, motherfucker. I ain’t ascared of you,” the prisoner said to the tall and lean SEAL.

“Think about what you’re gonna do, son,” the SEAL said calmly. “Think about what you’re gonna do.”

The prisoner removed the carving knife from Goforth’s throat and pointed it towards the SEAL.

With a blurry of hands, the SEAL quickly slapped the knife from the prisoner’s hand with his left hand and then hit the prisoner in the throat with his right hand.

The SEAL then took his right leg and swept the prisoner’s legs out from under him. The prisoner fell to the deck, with both of his hands on his throat as he tried desperately to breathe.

The petty officer cook took Goforth by the sleeve and yanked him away from the counter. Two corpsmen (the Navy's enlisted medics) entered the galley. One rushed to the fallen Marine and the other rushed to the gasping prisoner.

A young officer and a chief petty officer in khakis entered the gallery and the SEAL spoke briefly to the officer. The chief took out a notebook and began to take statements from everyone.

Once we gave our statements to the chief, we were told to return to our barracks. Goforth would later testify at the prisoner’s court martial and the prisoner was sentenced to prison.

As we sat in the Kitty Hawks galley a year later, Goforth recalled the incident.

“Goddam! I ain't never seen no one move as fast as that Goddamed SEAL. He sure as hell put that ole boy on the deck right quick.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Boy, that was a night to remember,” Goforth said.

“Yes, it was.”