By Carmine “Nuchie” Carnevale

I wasn’t “Red’s” favorite CT when we served in the Azores. Our ideologies and philosophies were very diverse in nature due primarily from our background. Red came from Illinois and joined the Navy as a teenager. He was serious; a World War II veteran and a Navy career man. I was 21 years old living in Brooklyn, New York, when I joined the Navy during the Korean War and served the last 11 months of a 4 year enlistment in the Azores with “Red.”

I talked frequently about being a “short-timer” who couldn’t wait to get out of the Navy. I made it a habit of counting down the days to my discharge date and relating the same to whomever was within earshot. “Red,” a serious career man (and thank God for guys like “Red” who chose the Navy as a career) got tired of hearing me; he told me so. We were on the same frequency only with regard to our serious commitment to the job we were doing for the Navy. I never showed up late, drunk, missed an assignment or disobeyed an order (the “day off” incident notwithstanding) during my 4 year enlistment. Testament to my sense of responsibility, seriousness and ability was the trust and confidence “Red” and Bill Beltz had in me, a CTR3, when they placed me in charge of a watch section. They could not understand how committed and “All Navy” I was about my job and be so carefree and capricious about matters that I felt were entirely insignificant because they neither affected my performance nor had anything to with my job. That was the “Navy” in them and the “Brooklyn” in me. Like oil and vinegar, we never mixed.

Eleven or so years ago at an NCVA reunion in Norfolk (my first reunion) our relationship in the Azores was upper most in my mind when I approached “Red” timidly and apprehensively. I just wanted to say hello but I expected him to tell me to “shove off.” I knew and understood he had reason to take that approach. I was surprised when he greeted me like a long lost younger brother. Needless to say I was ecstatic. We spoke of many things; he asked and I brought him up to date about my life, we spoke of the Azores, the guys who were there and we lingered a long while talking and laughing about the “day off” incident and the 300 hours of extra instruction. He said to me, “Nuchie you were the highlight of my 34 years in the Navy; I never forgot you or the road detail Bill Beltz gave you.” I took that as an ultimate compliment. He continued, “Me and Bill Beltz often spoke of you We wondered what ever happened to you.?” When we parted I felt good. During our service in the Azores, we didn’t know or understand each other, what’s more, I don’t think we cared one way or another. Since the reunion in Norfolk, that changed drastically; maybe we just mellowed….like good wine, we both got better with age.

The years since Norfolk have been an absolute delight and a revelation for both of us. I felt as though he was an older brother. We enjoyed the many lengthy phone conversations. I was privileged that he shared so many stories of his Navy life with me. I was impressed with his duty stations, from his duty in Pago Pago, his unique experience as a sailor on the last Navy Steamship USS ORINOCO prior to World War II, and his record of service during the war until his retirement in ’71. He roared with a resounding belly laugh when I told him he comes from the era when we had “iron men sailing on wooden ships.” I got so much satisfaction when I got him to laugh. He shared pictures of his retirement, some during his career as well as memorabilia he collected over the years. He thought so much of me that he sent me a picture of his Dad, who served in the Navy during World War I. I was moved by the gesture; I loved my father, who was in the trenches in France with the U.S. Army during that war. I understood. During our phone conversations we recalled and shared many incidents that happened in the Azores as well as other incidents during our Navy careers. I knew he had serious health problems that would culminate in his passing. Although you expect the inevitable, it never is an easy event to take. I always hoped we would get that last chance to sit at a bar, put our feet on the barstool and have a few tall cool beers. I knew how tough “Red” was; I never gave up hope. He used to say, “Don’t count me out yet, Nuchie.” I’ll miss “Red.” Unfortunately the “Big Man” above had other plans for “Red.” He must have needed a good Operations Chief. When the man calls it is a direct order, we go. Who knows maybe I’ll be sitting on watch for “Red” again one day. He certainly deserved this tribute – some things just have to be said.

Source: NCVA CRYPTOLOG, Fall 2005