Before he entered life as a politican and presidential contender, John McCain had a career in the Navy, a profession chosen by both his father and grandfather. Young McCain knew he had a legacy to live up to and he rebelled against many of the expectations set for him. At the Naval Academy, he was nearly expelled. In the following excerpt from his new book, Faith of My Fathers, McCain humorously recounts his numerous near-disasters during his Annapolis years.

FIFTH FROM THE BOTTOM As I rose through the ranks, some would attribute my advance to my admiral fathers benefaction. I suppose it is an accusation that many children of successful parents learn to ignore. I never did, however.

I AM SURE my disdainful contemporaries and disapproving instructors believed I would become a thoroughly disreputable upperclassman were I somehow to escape expulsion during my plebe year. Most of the time, my behavior only confirmed their low regard for me. For a moment, though, I came close to confounding their expectations. That moment began when I boarded the USS Hunt to begin my first-class cruise to Rio de Janeiro in June of 1957. The Hunt was an old destroyer. It had seen better days. It seemed to me a barely floating rust bucket that should have been scrapped years before, unfit even for mothballing. But I was ignorant, a sailors son though I was, and I overlooked the old ships grace and sea-worthiness. I assumed the Hunt was suitable only for the mean task of giving lowly midshipmen a rustic experience of life at sea. I was wrong.

NBCs Norah ODonnell on John McCain

We lived in cramped quarters in the aft of the ship. We kept the hatch open to cool our quarters with the breeze blowing off the Chesapeake Bay. Once the Hunt left the bay and entered the Atlantic, the seas grew heavier and seawater washed in through the hatch. We lived in the pooled water for several days. The rough seas sent a good number of us running for the lee side to vomit. We had restricted water hours on the cruise, which meant there was only enough water to allow us to drink from the ships water fountains during a three-hour period every day. We took saltwater showers.

U.S. senator and GOP presidential candidate John McCain talks to radio host Don Imus.

We spent a third of the cruise in the engineering plant, a grim place that seemed, to the untrained eye, a disgrace. The boilers blew scorching hot air on us while we spent long hours in misery learning the mysteries of the ships mechanics. That the ship sailed at all seemed to us a great testament to the mechanics mates mastery of improvisation. It was a hell of a vessel to go to sea in for the first time. We spent another third of the cruise learning ships navigation, and the last third on the bridge learning how to command a ship at sea. The skipper was Lieutenant Commander Eugene Ferrell. He seemed to accord the Hunt affection far out of proportion to her virtues. More surprisingly, he seemed to have some affection for me. He expressed it in eccentric ways, but I sensed his respect for me was greater than I had lately been accustomed to receiving from officers. I appreciated it, and I liked him a lot. I spent much of the cruise on the bridge, where the skipper would order me to take the conn. There is a real mental challenge to running a ship of that size, and I had little practical experience in the job. But I truly enjoyed it. I made more than a few mistakes, and every time I screwed up, the skipper would explode, letting loose an impressive blast of profane derision. Dammit, McCain, you useless bastard. Give up the conn right now. Get the hell off my bridge. Advertisement

Faith of My Fathers by John McCain

Other books by John McCain

I mean it, goddammit. I wont have a worthless s.o.b. at the helm of my ship. Youve really screwed up this time, McCain. Get the hell out of here! As I began to skulk off the bridge, he would call me back. Hold on a second. Come on back here, mister. Get over here and take the conn. And then he would begin, more calmly, to explain what I had done wrong and how the task was done properly. We would go along pleasantly until I committed my next unpardonable error, when he would unleash another string of salty oaths in despair over my unfitness for the service, only to beckon me back for a last chance to prove myself worthy of his fine ship. It was a wonderful time. I enjoyed the whole experience. As I detected in Ferrells outbursts his sense that I showed some promise, I worked hard not to disappoint him, and I learned the job passably well. I was rarely off his bridge for much of the cruise. No other midshipman on the Hunt was so privileged. Inspired by the experience, I began to consider becoming an officer in the surface Navy, with the goal of someday commanding a destroyer, instead of following my grandfather into naval aviation. I told Ferrell of my intentions, and he seemed pleased. Fine gentleman that he is, he never rebuked me after I abandoned my briefly held aspirations for a destroyer command and returned to my original plan to become an aviator. Many years later, he wrote me, and recalled a chance encounter we had sometime in the early sixties. I was surprised but pleased to see that you were wearing two stripes and a pair of gold wings. Your grandfather would have been very proud of you. Years later, while serving as a flight instructor in Meridian, Mississippi, I realized that I had adopted, unintentionally, Lieutenant Commander Ferrells idiosyncratic instruction technique. I took pride in the fact. When a Navy ship at sea needs to refuel or take on supplies and mail, it must come alongside and tie up to a refueling or replenishing ship while both vessels are under way. The maneuver is difficult to execute even in the calmest seas. Most skippers attempt it cautiously, bringing their ship alongside the approaching vessel very slowly. But the most experienced ship handlers are bolder, and pride themselves on their more daring form. They come alongside at two-thirds or full speed, much faster than the other ship. At precisely the right moment they throw the engines in reverse, and then ahead again at one-third speed. Its a spectacular thing to see when its done right. An approximate image of the maneuver is a car traveling at sixty miles an hour as it approaches a parallel parking space; the driver slams on the brakes and pulls cleanly, without an inch to spare, into the spot. Eugene Ferrell was a gifted ship handler, and he never considered coming alongside another ship in any other fashion, unless, of course, a green midshipman had the conn. I had watched him perform the task several times, and had admired his serene composure as he confidently gave the orders that brought the rushing Hunt abruptly but gracefully into place, moving at exactly the same speed as her sister ship. A seaman would fire a gun that shot a line to our bow. Soon the two ships, several lines now holding them in harness, would sail the ocean together for a time, never touching, but in perfect unison. It was a grand sight to behold. One beautiful afternoon, the flagship of the destroyer division to which the Hunt was attached, flying the ensign of the commanding admiral, approached us for the purpose of replenishing the Hunts depleted stores. Lieutenant Commander Ferrell gave me the conn, and without a trace of apprehension, bade me bring her alongside the admirals flagship. Ferrell told me to bring her up slowly, but offered no rebuke when I gave the order All engines ahead two-thirds. At precisely the right moment, I ordered, All engines back full. A few moments later, again well timed, I ordered, All engines ahead one-third. Thrillingly and to my great relief, the Hunt slipped into place so gracefully that any observer would have thought the skipper himself, master ship handler that he was, had the conn. Ferrell was proud of me, and I was much indebted to him. He had given me his trust, and I had had the good fortune to avoid letting him down. After the two ships were tied up, he sent a message to the admiral. Midshipman McCain has the conn. The impressed admiral sent a message to the Superintendent of the Naval Academy, informing him of my accomplishment. Many years later I learned that Ferrell had been a student and admirer of my fathers. Perhaps that explains his kindness toward me. Whatever the reason for the care he took with me, I was grateful for it. His confidence in me gave me more confidence in myself, and greater assurance that I belonged at sea than I had ever experienced in the rigid, disapproving world of the Academy. Eugene Ferrell was the man who taught me the craft of my father and grandfather. He gave me cause to love the work that they had loved. Debts such as that you incur for life. I sailed for Rio de Janeiro a more contented young man than I had ever been before. LIBERTY IN RIO Liberty in Rio. My imagination could not have embellished the good time we made of our nine days in port, indulging in the vices sailors are infamous for, as if we had been at sea for months instead of weeks. After some excessive drinking, nightclubbing, and little or no sleep, I had exhausted my appetite for the joys of liberty and intended to return to ship. Chuck Larson persuaded me to accompany him to a party at a grand house on Sugarloaf Mountain. There I met and began a romance with a Brazilian fashion model, and gloried in the envy of my friends. We danced on the terrace overlooking the bay until one oclock in the morning, when I felt her cheek was moist. Whats the matter? I asked. Ill never see you again, she replied. I told her that we would remain in town for eight more days, and that I would gladly spend as much time in her company as she would grant me. But she rebutted my every assurance with No, I can never see you again. Are you engaged? No. Look, Im going to be down at the gate of the shipyard at one oclock tomorrow afternoon. Ill be there, and I want you to be there, too. She said nothing in reply, and an hour later she left the party with her aunt, who served as her constant companion and chaperone. The next afternoon, I left the ship at about twelve-thirty and waited for her at the place I had designated. An hour passed, and she had not arrived. Another hour and still she had not appeared. An hour after that, I forlornly prepared to abandon all hope. Just as I was preparing to return to the ship in a state of deep despondency, she pulled up in a Mercedes with gull-wing doors. She honked the horn, and I jumped in, ecstatic. I spent every free moment with her for the rest of my stay in Rio. She was very beautiful, stylish, and gracious  common attributes in her wealthy and socially prominent family. She took me to dinners and receptions where I toasted my extraordinary good fortune in the company of cabinet members, generals and admirals, wealthy aristocrats, and, on one occasion, the president of Brazil. We spent my last evening on liberty together. She drove me to my ship the next morning. I emerged from under the open gull-wing door and kissed her to a chorus of rowdy cheers from my shipmates. I accepted their approval with an affected sheepish humility. When we returned to Annapolis, I had a few weeks leave, which I used to fly right back to Rio to continue my storybook romance. By the following Christmas, the distance between us, and our youthful impatience and short attention spans, brought an end to our affair. But it resides in my memory, embellished with age, of course, among the happier experiences of my life. On the return cruise we made port in the Virgin Islands and at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, where we received further instruction in the rituals of shore leave. Guantanamo in those pre-Castro days was a wild place. Everyone went ashore and headed immediately for huge tents that had been set up on the base as temporary bars, where great quantities of strong Cuban beer and an even more potent rum punch were served to anyone who professed a thirst and could afford a nickel a drink. The officers club boasted the same menu in slightly more comfortable surroundings. We drank there for a good while, serenaded by a Pat Boone record. A music lover had evidently come ashore and filled the O clubs jukebox with as many nickels as he could scrounge, choosing but one selection, Love Letters in the Sand, which played over and over again. Returning to the ship, my friends and I were delighted to discover that the throng of sailors and Marines crowding the landing had taken a dislike to one another and had begun fighting. The shore patrol arrived and waded into the riot of whites and khaki vainly trying to separate the opposing forces. It was bedlam. We loved it. On the cruise back to Annapolis I returned to my place on the bridge and happily resumed my one-on-one tutorial in the elements of expert ship handling. Two officers who were attached to the Academy but were not officers in my company had been assigned to the cruise to evaluate our performance. They gave me the best marks, reporting that I had shown a very high aptitude for the service. I had the high grease. Captain Hart was astonished. He was convinced there had been a terrible error, perhaps a case of mistaken identity. First-class cruise had turned out to be the best time of my young life. Inspired by my success on the USS Hunt, I resolved to make something of myself in my last year at the Academy. I studied hard and maintained a respectful attitude toward my superiors. I set up a tutoring system for plebes who were struggling academically. I managed the battalion boxing team, which won the brigade championship. My grades were improving, and I stayed well out of trouble. I had become, for a brief time, a squared-away midshipman whom any company officer could be proud of  any company officer save mine. In January, I went to Captain Harts office to receive my grease grade, which I was confident would elevate me for the first time from the bottom regions of the class standings where I had dwelled in infamy for three years. Hart began by noting my improved behavior. Keep this up, son, and youll have something to be proud of. When I asked where he had placed me in the company, he mumbled an answer that I couldnt make out. Where, sir? At the bottom, he whispered. Where? At the bottom. Rising from my chair, I glared at Hart, who remained seated. You can expect nothing more from me, Captain, I said as I left his office, slamming the door so hard behind me that I thought its opaque glass window would break. Any other officer would have shouted at me, Get back in here and sit down, mister! Where do you get off barking at me like that? Not Captain Hart. He never spoke of the interview. He knew he had wronged me. For the first time, I had wanted something from him, had felt Id earned it. And he, dogged to the end, had gotten his revenge. True to my word, I returned to the habits of my first three years, accumulating demerits by the dozen, waiting out, indifferently, my last few months at the Academy. A month after my interview with Hart, my room was chosen for a surprise inspection. It didnt pass. Only one roommate is responsible for keeping the room in some semblance of order, the job rotating among four roommates on a monthly basis. The surprise inspection occurred on my watch. Room in gross disorder was the charge. The customary punishment for such an offense was fifteen demerits and three hours of extra duty. I received seventy-five demerits. A midshipman was allowed only 125 demerits his last year. Any more and he bilged out. I was already carrying forty demerits when the inspector arrived. It was a practical impossibility to last more than three months without collecting another ten. The slightest mistake, the most insignificant oversight, would get me kicked out in the last few weeks before graduation. My fate, I thought, was sealed. I telephoned my parents. My father was at sea, so I informed my mother that I was coming home. I explained the circumstances, and that my expulsion was imminent. I might as well come home now, I argued, and not waste a few days or weeks waiting for the ax to fall. My mother wisely cautioned me not to make an irrevocable decision until I had an opportunity to talk to my father. In the meantime, she advised me to talk things over with my wrestling coach, Ray Schwartz, a friend of my parents and a good man. Mr. Schwartz commiserated with me about my difficult predicament, and agreed that I had been punished excessively for a minor infraction. But he, too, advised me to withhold any decision until I had discussed the situation with my father. A day or two later, I received a summons from the Commandant of the Naval Academy, Captain Shin. My mother had called him. Whats this I hear about you leaving? he asked. I have too many demerits, sir, I replied. Why? Because I have been punished unfairly, sir. I then explained how the sentence had far exceeded the prescribed penalty, and that I thought the action was unjust. My complaint seemed only to irritate him. He said I was spoiled, a charge that I greatly resented. Whatever you say, sir, but its still not fair. He leveled a scornful gaze at me and told me to leave. The commandant was neither the first nor the last person to accuse me of being spoiled, implying that my parents had greased my way in the world. Witt had been the first to do so when he derided me for being a captains son. Later in my career, as I rose through the ranks, some would attribute my advance to my admiral fathers benefaction. I suppose it is an accusation that many children of successful parents learn to ignore. I never did, however. I grew red-faced and angry every time some know-it-all told me how easy a life my father had made for me. The life my father led me to has been a richly rewarding one, and I am grateful to him for it. But easy is not the first adjective that comes to mind when describing it. My father was only a captain when I was at the Naval Academy, a rank that surely didnt grant him the influence to compensate for my shortcomings. Later in my life, when my father wore stars on his shoulder, he would, indeed, influence my career, but in ways my detractors did not appreciate. He had met the standard his father had set. It was my obligation and my privilege to try to uphold it. A week or two after Captain Shin instructed me to leave his presence, I was informed that the punishment for my disordered room had been reduced to thirty demerits and seven days of confinement. I was relieved to comply with the order. A month or so after the room inspection incident, I had yet another close brush with disaster. The ever vigilant Captain Hart believed he had at last discovered a violation that would result in my swift expulsion from the Academy. In September of my last year, my roommates and I, along with four roommates in the room next to ours and two other midshipmen on our floor, chipped in to buy a television set. In those days, Academy regulations enjoined midshipmen from keeping electrical appliances of any kind in their rooms. Even hot plates were considered contraband. I remember a few midshipmen would take back to their rooms bread and cheese from the mess hall after the evening meal, and sell cheese sandwiches to the

-- Vern (bacon17@ibm.net), January 30, 2000

Answers

* * * 20000130 Sunday

Can anyone FIND (a la "Nexus-Lexus"?) the "News" magazine article (circa May or March 17th, 1973) exposing John McCain as the TRAITOR he is?

It was reported--in black and white--that McCain divulged more than name, rank, and serial number to his ENEMY captors in order to curry "favorable" treatment while in P.O.W. status.

I was on the road at the time, but if memory serves me, it was last week or the week before that Rush Limbaugh quoted the dam*ing article during his live radio show.

If there is truth in the article Rush Limbaugh cited, McCain needs to be exposed as a TRAITOR and suffer appropriate consequences that he apparently has escaped from all these years.

This Vietnam Vet--Qui N'Hon, 1969-1970--wants to know!

Regards, Bob Mangus

* * *

-- Robert Mangus (rmangus1@yahoo.com), January 30, 2000.

Yes, Please do. If you guys who are bashing McCain so hard as a traitor have some real verifiable evidence please produce it.

I visited this site daily for for over six months, and read way too many reports by "anonymous sources", and "my brother's friend's ex-wife's plumber", concerning Y2K, and the coming end of society.

Put up or shut up with some hard evidence, and that doesn't mean "The Spotlight".

-- (cavscout@fix.net), January 30, 2000.

* * * 20000130 Sunday

The "News" zine cited by Rush Limbaugh was one of the U.S. "mainstream" weeklies (e.g., U.S. News & World Report(?)--I am SURE that it was NOT "TIME Magazine," however!).

Regards, Bob Mangus

* * *

-- Robert Mangus (rmangus1@yahoo.com), January 30, 2000.

McCain may not be all he portrays himself to be; at least this one veteran organization thinks otherwise.

Check out this site: http://www.usvetdsp.com/main.shtml (sorry...tried to hot link, but am html challenged....:(

-- Birdlady (Birdlady@nest.home), January 31, 2000.

Robert,

There is no such thing as "favorable" treatment when you are a POW in Nam. Were you there? I was not and so there is no way in hell I would ever feel qualified to judge how anyone reacts in that situation. Secrets to get medical treatment? Why the hell didn't WE bring him home so he could have access to our *wonderful* VA physicians?

My bottom line is that McCain went, when others fled. He survived, when many in this nation turned their backs on the soldiers and the POW's there. Heck, folks still turn their backs on these Nam vets. How dare I or any American judge the behavior of one of our POW's!!! Do you think he was not tortured? Do you think his camp was really a country club because his info was that valuable?

Jeez, WE left him there for FIVE YEARS! WE could not be bothered to respond at the level needed to bring these men back in a timely manner. I have to wonder if the reality that we turned our backs on these men hurt them worse than the torture dished out by the enemies' hands.

I read "info" on his making disclosures to obtain medical treatment. Here is a link: http://www.rumormillnews.com/cgi-bin/config.pl? read=1297.

Note this link is to Rumor Mill News, not a credible source. Here is the dribble uh I mean unsubstantiated post from this link.

========================

Rumor Mill News Forum

Senator John S. McCain is The Manchurian Candidate Posted By: A-NON Date: Thursday, 27 January 2000, at 7:25 p.m.

http://www.williamcooper.net/index.htm

Senator John S. McCain is The Manchurian Candidate http://williamcooper.net/mccain.htm

I knew Senator John McCain's father when Admiral John S. McCain Jr. was the Commander in Chief of the Pacific (CINCPAC). I sincerely believe that Admiral McCain, if he were alive, would tell you exactly what I am about to tell you. Admiral McCain always put his country first and foremost above all other issues.

The fact that Senator John McCain was shot down and captured over North Vietnam does not make him a hero. The goal of any pilot is to not get shot down. The fact that he was a Prisoner of War does not make him a hero. The goal of all military personnel is to not become a POW. The fact that he endured prison, torture, and brainwashing for all that time makes him a survival hero in my humble opinion. I am very happy that he survived and that he was able to return home.

However, Senator John McCain was tortured and brainwashed by the communists for over 5 years. Regardless of what you may have been told, or what you may believe, no one, not anyone on this earth can withstand torture and brainwashing without breaking down, giving up information, and permanent damage to the mind... usually to traditional belief systems and thought processes in the areas of religion, philosophy, and politics.

By his own admission Senator John McCain, while a POW, traded information for special medical treatment which no other POW received. He made public statements while a POW detrimental to the United States Navy and the United States of America.

Many brainwashing victims become fractured personalities programmed to perform some task or tasks in the future. Their programming can be activated by audio, visual, or other types of stimulation. These are facts not conjecture. Anyone can confirm these facts with a little research.

Remember, what is known about torture and brainwashing is old information, and it is terrifying. I have no access to what is still kept secret. I have no knowledge of what can be done to a victim using the state of the art techniques which are held in the strictest secrecy by all nations.

I doubt that Senator McCain knows the extent of the damage done to his mind... and according to all the studies and facts available concerning torture and brainwashing he could not have anything other than a damaged mind. The movie may have been fiction... but Senator John McCain is without any doubt the real Manchurian Candidate.

When I look at his voting record in the United States Senate I do not see a conservative Republican. I see a record that reveals a closet socialist, a proponent of the New World Order.

Love him if you must, honor him if you can, respect him in his office, but don't ever vote for him again. It was a mistake to put him in the Senate. It would be a much bigger mistake to put a man who has been tortured and brainwashed by communist mind control experts for over 5 years in the White House.

William Cooper

-- Hokie (Hokie_@hotmail.com), January 31, 2000.

...as you can see, anti-American propaganda.

Mr. Cooper implies a soldier is not a hero BECAUSE he was shot down and taken prisoner (paragraph two). This is assinine. Americans know that our freedom was purchased for a price, and that we as well must be willing to pay that price to secure this freedom for our children.

John McCain flew over Nam and was willing to pay that price for what we were told was national security.

What did you do?

Better yet, what did you do TO RESCUE HIM FROM THE ENEMIES' HANDS?

-- Hokie (Hokie_@hotmail.com), January 31, 2000.

* * * 20000131 Monday

Hokie:

Yes, I am an (in-country) Vietnam War Vet. Served in the Qui N'Hon (II Corp) arena, from July 1969-July 1970 (Central Highlands, near China Bay). War is hell!

Regards, Bob Mangus

* * *

-- Robert Mangus (rmangus1@yahoo.com), January 31, 2000.

Senator McCain is due our respect and I would like to vote for him. However, I believe that Governor Bush will better protect my second amendment rights and therefore will have my vote.

LDD

-- Larry Dreadon (lddreadon@rpindustries.com), January 31, 2000.

Robert,

Thanks for that sacrifice.

-- Hokie (Hokie_@hotmail.com), January 31, 2000.