
I reported on board the USS Sanctuary in September of 1969 and went to the personnel office for my assignment. This won’t surprise anyone who was ever in the Navy, but they seemed to have no idea that I was coming. After conferring among themselves, they came back and told me that I would be senior corpsman in sterile surgical supply.
Sterile surgical supply was where we prepared and maintained all the equipment necessary for conducting surgery as well as the sterile equipment used in the clinics and wards. The Sanctuary had several surgical suites that were busy almost all the time when we were on station in support of combat operations. It was a busy place and went through a lot of equipment.
Life on board a Navy ship is a 24 hour a day, seven day a week job. There are no days off when you’re at sea. Fortunately, as a member of the hospital crew, I was what they called a shift worker. Which meant I had a set schedule. Members of the ship’s crew were watch standers. That meant they worked in four hour rotations that changed every 24 hours. We could at least have some type of a routine for awake and sleep time, but for a watch stander the schedule was constantly rotating. As a petty officer and a supervisor, I was exempt from some extracurricular duties such as working on the mess decks and taking part in working parties for regular ship maintenance and supply.
The work was hard and continuous. There was no shortage of casualties in 1969. Our job was to provide direct medical support to our troops in combat. The wounded were flown by helicopter directly from the battlefield to the ship. We got the most severely injured; the ones who couldn’t be effectively treated at a field hospital.
The crew was highly trained and incredibly efficient. From the time a wounded soldier or marine landed on our flight deck it was only minutes until he was in the operating room. The survival rate for the wounded in Vietnam was far greater than it had been in either World War II or Korea. This was largely due to the speed with which casualties were transported to definitive medical care.
We generally didn’t treat civilians, but one day, unbeknownst to us, one of our medevac helicopters was bringing in a pregnant Vietnamese woman. When she was offloaded on the flight deck she was already in labor. They brought her down to the preoperative holding area which was adjacent to our sterile supply room. When there was a heavy influx of casualties, we helped out in the preop area that functioned somewhat like an emergency room.
We were standing there, an anesthesiologist and three corpsmen, trying to figure out how to deliver a baby. Thank goodness the woman took it in her own hands and delivered the baby herself! Of course, that didn’t stop us from congratulating each other about delivering the only baby born on a Navy hospital ship during the Vietnam War. If only all our patients could have turned out so well.
When I remember my time on the Sanctuary, I try not to dwell on the suffering of our patients. Their sacrifices still move me to tears. I prefer to be grateful that I was mostly out of direct combat and to focus the less intense episode that helped us maintain our sanity.
One unexpected benefit of being the senior corpsman in sterile surgical supply was being able to order those supplies. One day while going through the supply catalog I discovered it was possible to order five gallons of pure medical grade grain alcohol. And even better, it required no approval. I also ordered a large five gallon glass beaker. We had wall mounts in our work room where there were glass beakers with soap solution and acetone. We also had an empty wall mount.
The alcohol arrived, along with the five-gallon beaker. I put the alcohol in the beaker and pasted a large poison sign on it. I got green food coloring from the mess decks in return for a promise to share. It’s easy to be generous when you have five gallons. I did have to emphasize that it couldn’t be drunk straight but had to be diluted by fifty percent with fruit juice or soda.
The food coloring gave it an appropriately poisonous appearance. It also gave us the advantage of hiding it in plain sight. I quickly became the most popular corpsman on the ship.
Right after Thanksgiving the CO of the ship issued an announcement that the crew was now authorized to put up Christmas decorations. (I think I’ve mentioned before that sometimes I don’t always think through my wise cracks.) The fact that we were now authorized to have Christmas got me thinking. I made a large sign that said “All enlisted personnel desiring to have a Merry Christmas must report to the ship’s office to obtain a Christmas chit. Personnel having a Merry Christmas without an appropriate chit will be subject to nonjudicial punishment.” A chit was basically the Navy’s version of a permission slip. I thought this was pretty funny. Apparently, the ship’s office did not agree when people started lining up to get their Christmas chits.
This resulted in a stern lecture from our leading chief. It generally consisted of about every third word beginning with the letter F. I was sure I was going to be reassigned, reduced in rank, sent to the brig or something even worse. Surprisingly, after many blistering words, he dismissed me with a wave of the hand. As I was leaving, much relieved, the chief said, “And you can drop off the rest of that grain you got to the chief’s mess .” That depleted my supply and ended my short-lived popularity on the USS Sanctuary.
Right after Christmas, we had the opportunity to have a Bob Hope show on board the ship. Everyone was crammed onto the main deck to watch Bob, a few musicians and some dancers put on about an hour and a half show. I was way in the back as we had all the patients in the front. Bob’s jokes were corny. I’m sure the dancers were pretty (I wasn’t close enough to tell for sure) and the musicians weren’t particularly talented, but a good time was had by all.
Navy ships at sea in a combat zone practice strict blackout at night. Hospital ships don’t. Not only are they painted white, but they are lit up like a cruise ship with large flood lights hanging over the side of the ship to illuminate the red crosses. This illumination led to what quickly became one of our favorite pastimes.
Inshore ocean waters in Southeast Asia are infested with sea snakes and they are attracted to light. One sailor had his parents send him a sling shot and BBs and before long the ship’s rails were lined with sailors firing BBs and watching the snakes rolling in the water. For most of us, these were the only shots we fired in Viet Nam.
Once, while cruising close to the mouth of the Perfume River near Hue City, the ship went dead in the water. The rumor quickly spread among the crew that the NVA had attached a mine to the hull. Everyone rushed on deck to watch as divers went over the side to investigate. Imagine our disappointment when they surfaced dragging a large fishing net that had wrapped around the propeller.
I don’t remember as much about the trip home from Vietnam as I do about the plane ride over. I do remember that as soon as the plane lifted off the ground everyone on board started cheering and applauding and whiskey bottles were passed up and down the aisles. (Perhaps that’s why I don’t remember much about the flight.) Needless to say, it was a very happy trip.
There were other events that I may share at some point, including a misguided trip to Camp Eagle and several port calls to the infamous Olongapo in the Philippines. However, this post has gone on long enough, but I may return later to revisit these memories.
We arrived at Norton Air Force Base, which I now knew was in Ontario, California, not Ontario, Canada. They took us through customs and started searching our bags. I was wondering why, because I couldn’t imagine anything we could possibly be bringing back that would be valuable enough for customs to worry about until I saw them going through bags and pulling out weapons, grenades and even a mortar shell.
This was in the spring of 1970 and the height of the Vietnam War protests. As soon as we cleared customs, they put us in a large auditorium and gave us our welcome home briefing. One of the few things I remember from this is that we were told that if we did not have civilian clothes that we should go to the base exchange buy some and put them on before we got to LAX. Under no circumstances should we go to LAX in uniform because we would be harassed or possibly even assaulted by protesters. This was not quite the welcome home any of us were expecting.
I was on my way to an officer training program and four years in college. I was sure that by the time I graduated and got commissioned the war in Vietnam would be over. But, like many things associated with that war, nothing would ever be certain, and I would see that sad country again.








My Journey into Genealogy
By John Turley
On March 6, 2023
In Appalachia, Commentary, History
My journey into genealogy began when I was in my early 60s, an age at which many people would already be calling me an ancestor. It’s not something I had ever been particularly interested in. I really had very little sense of my family history. At that time, I could name my grandparents and one of my great grandparents and the family name of some other great grandparents but little else. Of course, like everyone else, we all had our family lore such as the Cherokee Princess in the family but no real documentation of anything.
Margie’s first cousin Mary has been involved in the Daughters of the American Revolution for quite some time. She really encouraged Margie to become a member and in fact did her research and prepared her application. She asked me at the time if I had thought about joining the Sons of the American Revolution. I dismissed it as unlikely because another part of our family lore was that all our ancestors came over from Ireland during the potato famine of the mid-1800s. Like much family lore, this tended to have little basis in fact and the only ancestor I have been able to document as having arrived from Ireland in the mid-1800s was not a Turley but a Kanary, another name that I had never heard before I started my journey.
Margie’s other first cousin Barbie was also in the DAR and her husband Bob is in the SAR. Bob encouraged me to apply to the SAR, but I was convinced that there were no ancestors in my family who could trace back to the revolution. Bob said he would do the research for me if I wanted to join. My friend Dick also helped me start down this path.
Our mother had always said that she could have joined the DAR but never did. I always discounted this because she had several other family legends that she used to tell us. One of those legends was that we were related to Teddy Roosevelt. This was because her grandmother’s family name was Bullock and Teddy Roosevelt’s mother’s family name was Bulloch. I always felt this was highly unlikely for two reasons, first because the spelling was different but mostly because our Bullock ancestors were New Jersey Quaker farmers and Teddy’s ancestors were wealthy southern planters. However, despite the fact we weren’t related to Teddy, I was surprised to discover we had many ancestors who traced back to the revolutionary era on both sides of the family.
Bob did his research and found my ancestor with ties to the revolution. His name was Samuel Henry, yet another ancestor I had never been aware of. His support for the revolution came in the form of what is called patriotic public service. He served on a grand jury that was called into session by the revolutionary government of Virginia in defiance of the crown.
This got me interested in seeing if I had any other revolutionary ancestors. In specific, as a former Marine, I was looking for somebody with more manly service than a grand jury. I found my man, a Massachusetts farmer named Moses Nash who served in the Massachusetts militia as a Minuteman Lieutenant and my fourth great grandfather. Not one of the Lexington and Concord Minutemen, but a Minuteman, nonetheless. Well now I was on a roll. I thought if there are two, there must be more. My current count is eight ancestors whose service I have documented and another 19 who were living in the colonies during the revolution but for whom I have not yet documented service,
I had no idea that my family can be traced so far back into the United States. Specifically, I had no idea that a significant branch of my family has ties to colonial New England in Massachusetts, Vermont, and Connecticut. One branch of my family I have traced back to the 1620s in Massachusetts. It was fascinating to read the will of an ancestor who died in 1638. I’m now on the hunt for the Holy Grail of American genealogy, a Mayflower ancestor. Although it’s highly unlikely, it’s still an interesting search.
I did try to discover that Cherokee Princess. I found a handwritten family history that said my second great grandmother’s grandmother was a Cherokee. Why it was listed that way rather than naming her I’m not sure. I have done some research and I have not been able to document any Cherokees in her lineage unless they were named Adkins or Midkiff or Gillespie, none of which I believe are Indian names.
DNA testing has also failed to document any Native American heritage. Although after that many generations that is not completely exclusionary. The person in question is my fourth great grandmother and on average I have inherited only 1/64 of my DNA from her. It is possible that specific Native American markers were not included in that small segment of DNA I inherited. But when the lack of DNA evidence is added to the lack documentary evidence, I have to admit that I’m not descended from a Cherokee Princess. (By the way, I’ve always wondered why it’s never a Cherokee Prince.)
So how did those ancestors get from New England to West Virginia? Right after the revolution the new United States government was almost broke. Many revolutionary soldiers were paid with a land warrant giving them a grant on the western frontier. They moved from New England and the eastern seaboard states into Ohio, western Virginia, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, and Tennessee. Generally, the lower the rank of the soldier the further West and the smaller his land warrant. But for men with no opportunity to own their own farms in the crowded eastern colonies, this was an opportunity they could not resist.
I have discovered a lot of things commonly believed about genealogy that appear to largely be mythology. There’s the story that the family’s name was changed at Ellis Island. If the family’s name was changed, either they did it themselves to appear more American or it was done on board ship before they arrived. At Ellis Island, ship manifests were copied into the arrival journal and no additional individual information was taken from the immigrants beyond a health examination and identification of a sponsor who would be responsible for them. Occasionally names may have been inadvertently changed later by a census taker who misunderstood or couldn’t spell ethnic names.
There’s also the “three brothers” story. This is a story where three brothers arrived from Ireland, England, Germany, take your choice, and then went to three different areas and that’s why there is significant name distribution. In fact, almost always when family members immigrated together, they tended to stay together as they moved further into the United States. DNA studies have demonstrated that most of the widely distributed name clusters have little close relationship.
If you want to find a quick and easy source of information about your family history, go to any of the major genealogy websites and look at census records. Depending on the year of the census you can find where your ancestors were born, if they could read or write, where their parents were born and what occupations they followed. It’s also surprising how large the families were. If you look at surrounding families, you can see that there are many clusters of relatives in the rural areas. Once they’ve moved into the cities they tend to be less often grouped together.
My favorite website is ancestry.com, but any of the major websites will have fascinating information. Just don’t accept everything on those web sites as factual. I have found many of the relationships listed to actually be an unrelated person of the same name. For example, in the early 1800s there were four John Turley’s in the Kanawha County area. Middle names weren’t common then and it took some research to figure out which one was my third great grandfather.
If you’re interested in genealogy, just get in touch with The Grumpy Doc and I’ll be glad to help you on your journey. Who knows, maybe we’re cousins.