My Last Cruise with Captain Hilton

USS Sterett DLG 31

On my last cruise with Captain Hilton, I found myself face to face with him in the dim light of his cabin, because I caused his ship and a flotilla of ships to come to a virtual stop, dead in the water. A USS carrier, a cruiser, and the Sterett were in center station with four to six destroyers spread out in a circle around us. I believe it was January 1972, and we were in the Western Pacific returning to the Gulf of Tonkin by way of the Philippines. This would be my second of three deployments as a crew member on the Sterett.

In 1970 as an 18 year old Seaman Operations Specialist, Captain Hilton’s quiet shadow in CIC seemed large and ominous to me. Later, as a 19 year old OS3, I served the Captain as his driver for a few months in the summer and fall of 1971 just before we left the states. I knew the Captain as a quiet, hard to know what he was thinking, kind of leader that kept me on my toes, but always treated me with courtesy and respect.

When not in CIC, one of my duties was to route classified documents among officers. After they were circulated and out-dated, I had to wad each page into a loose ball, place them in a 10-15 gallon paper bag, tape it shut, and carry the bags out to the burn barrel on the fantail.

On this particular day the skies were warm and clear; the wind was quite strong. We must have been cruising at about 20 knots. Guys were sitting or lying around sunbathing as I approached the burn barrel with four large bags, one under each arm and one in each hand. You could see the carrier or the cruiser off to one side and sometimes a destroyer aft of the Sterett on the horizon. I was able to secure two bags into the barrel when a stiff wind tore one out of my hand. It bounced off the edge of the barrel, cracked open, and floated off behind us in our wake.

I watched in agony as, blue, green, and yellow secret messages popped out of the bag and onto the ocean’s surface like popcorn. I starred in shocked disbelief and looked over my shoulders in all directions. No one noticed. No one was paying attention to my “accident”. For a brief moment I thought, just ignore it. I double checked to be sure no one noticed what happened. No one had.

Then, mental pictures of Russians scooping up the messages with long pikes shattered my brief sense of relief. On the other hand, the balls of paper would soak up water; the ink would run, and they would sink like toilet paper. No one would even know… but I couldn’t do it! I went to a com phone, called the bridge, and explained the situation to the bridge officer. I was sure I would be humiliated, busted, and keel hauled into the next week.

I stood at the rail and watched in disbelief as engines slowed, the ship turned and started to bob 25-50 yards from the paper bag and its spilled contents. The sinking feeling in my gut grew worse when someone in a wetsuit dropped into the water and swam around scooping up dripping papers into a net. “Oh God, please don’t let there be sharks.” I thought to myself. To this day, I’d swear the other ships also slowed and bobbed on the horizon.

My heart jumped into my throat when I heard the bosun’s whistle and the ship’s intercom, “Petty Officer Montgomery report to the Captain’s cabin.” I didn’t know whether to jump or hide. I don’t remember the walk up the companion ways and along the decks, just standing in front of Captain Hilton’s door forcing my arm muscles to make a knocking motion. “Enter.” was all I recall hearing.

I stepped inside, stood at attention, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. Captain Hilton was sitting in an arm chair with open pages in his lap. Probably some documents I had given him earlier, I thought. Slowly he lifted his head. Time seemed to slow, and I could feel my heart beating in my chest. One man at that one moment had more control and power over my life than I would ever experience to this day!

“Montgomery, was that you?” was all he said in a quiet voice.

"Yes Sir, Captain. It was me.” I managed to squeak out believing  I disappointed him.

A long…long pause…then, “Montgomery, do you know what most men would have done in these circumstances?” I thought it was a trick question. I knew what I almost did.

“They…would… not…have said any…thing?...Sir?”

“That’s right Montgomery. They would have done nothing.” …another, agonizing pause as if he wanted something to sink into my clouded brain…. “That will be all, Montgomery,” he said to let me know we were finished.

"Yes Sir.” I could not get to the other side of his door fast enough, and I closed it softly behind me. I took a deep breath and walked away proud and relieved at the same time. It felt good to do the right thing.

I don’t recall anyone else saying anything to me. I wasn’t humiliated, or busted. Over the years, I’ve recounted this story among family, and it always brings a smile to my thoughts as I recall the feeling of jubilant relief after exiting Captain Hilton’s cabin. This year for the first time on February 28th, 2008, I told this story to an audience as I tried to motivate them to make the right decision for our organization. Then I read of his passing and wanted to honor him in retelling this story.

I will always remember Captain Hilton with great appreciation and respect. In his calm, unpatronizing way, Captain Hilton taught a young sailor barely 20 years old, that doing what’s right has its own rewards.

Gary Montgomery, OS2

USS Sterett DLG 31

March 1970 to June 1973