Fighting

In 1970, while USS TRIPOLI (LPH-10) was deployed to WestPac during the Vietnam War, an inspection disclosed that the ship’s propeller was cracked. 

We were taken off Yankee Station and sent home to Hunters Point Naval Shipyard, San Francisco for repairs, bringing a shipload of Marines home with us. The month or so in the yard was a highlight of that sea duty for me, discovering little Japanese sushi houses and restaurants, buying sushi and a Kirin and driving up to a spot overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge to enjoy. Weekends, the ship’s helicopter flew home to San Diego, going Friday afternoon and returning Monday morning, and there was always room for me to ride. Linda, Malinda and Joe would meet me and we’d have the weekend together. 

One weekday evening a handful of the wardroom officers decided to take in an NHL hockey game, not sure what team but think it was San Jose. The weather was good so we went in the Ops Officer’s Olds 88 convertible with the top down. It was my first hockey game, not a familiar sport to a Floridan native, very fast and exciting, but the fighting astonished and horrified me. Driving back to the ship after, I wondered aloud why the fighting was tolerated. The other guys laughed that it was a highlight of the game and without it hockey could be pretty boring.

All that came back recently, reading about the death of Derek Boogaard and his life in hockey. The Boogeyman was at times the most feared NHL enforcer on the ice. He was in the game for the sheer love of it, and only fought because he had no option if he wanted to continue playing. Hockey was the death of him. It was also his life throughout his 28 years, and all he ever wanted to do.     

TRIPOLI’s shipyard visit came just about in the middle of our eight month deployment. 

It was a welcome break before returning to the war and is a happy memory, including my first and only NHL game.  

TW