Playing Fair and Being Kind

 

THE BIGGEST MAN IN ARKANSAS

One of the most fun friends I ever had was Larry Luttrell. When we met it was instant get-along.  I was a little older than he and Larry detected something inside me that made him feel safe. Larry was a large man. Although we were the same height at six feet tall, Larry was twice my width. I weighed close to 170 pounds. Larry admitted to 300. I knew better. I wouldn’t be wrong if he were a few ticks past 300. For his size and because of his youth, Larry was light on his feet. He surprised me often with how nimble he was and how small he could become. Larry was also the strongest man I have ever met. There are many stories to tell of Larry Luttrell from Arkansas.

We were both newly assigned to a submarine under construction in the shipyard in Newport News. It was summer time and the weather was warm and we didn’t have a lot to do because the submarine was still on the ways and it had not been completely closed up. There were huge openings in the hull in order to install major equipment and machines and other pieces of important stuff necessary to call it a submarine. This was my second time through this event. I’d been in the yard a few years previous when I was part of the commissioning crew for the Sam Houston, a similar type of project like the present submarine Larry and I were on.   Larry and I spent a lot of time roaming the shipyard, investigating this and that, so he could get the hang of what this new-construction assignment was going to be like.

This relaxed period was important for us to get know each other. We’d mosey along and I’d get the idea he’d be benefitted by me showing him the plate shop and the pickling pits and the place the ship fitters cut the steel for parts of the tanks and other structural pieces that would become our submarine. So, we wandered up toward the north end of the yard where those aforementioned things were taking place.

Now, I got to tell you that wandering around the ship-fitters hangout is treacherous in various ways one of which is there are caustic chemicals and substances lying about. The ground is saturated with liquids that will melt certain items that come in contact with them. It’s all got to do with plating the steel pieces with protective and cleaning acids, etcetera. I found this out because I’d picked up a pair of casual shoes that I was wearing this particular day that were, generally speaking, too casual for shipyard work. The soles were spongey and soft and comfortable. What I was going to find out was that the composition material of the soles was not acid proof. By the time we’d moseyed up and back to the south end of the yard those soles were leaving strings of composition all along our track. I had to keep walking to prevent the shoes from becoming stuck to the ground. I would feel the resistance building up when I would take a step. I’d just head for an area of black diamond dust and shuffle my feet around to pick up the grit and dust. That maneuver would give me a dry barrier between the gummy soles and the pavement. We made it back to the south end of the yard and I changed out of those ruined boots into a more acid proof type of shoe.

About this time, I discovered I was sick with walking pneumonia. I felt tired and draggy; a little woozy after being at work for just a brief period. I left the yard and went home. I lived in Hampton which was on the way to Langley Air Force Base. The military doctors fixed me up with penicillin. I was on it for a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, Larry and I continued to build our friendship.

During one of our forays in the yard I noticed a ubiquitous material I was not familiar with. Plastic sheeting. The shipyard used plastic sheeting to cover material that needed protection from dust and other elements common to industrial work areas. The stuff was everywhere. Large rolls of it were present in all the shops. We sailors eventually learned to use it for our own projects as well. It was marvelous stuff and easy to configure in many applications. This feature would come in handy later.

I discovered that Larry had qualities I’d not found in other friends. It could have been his Arkansas ways or even his accent from that region. I’m not sure. I certainly felt at ease around him. I’d been in the Navy around seven years at this point in time and I still carried a bit of a Boston accent and way of speaking. Maybe Larry was as amused with my ways as I was with his. Whatever it was I didn’t need to check my words before saying things to him. He was accepting of whatever we were talking about or doing at the moment. I think the deal was that we could be saying truthful things or bullshit things and we heard each other out regardless. I knew and he knew when the other was talking trash but it didn’t matter. I don’t know if there is a word for that or not. Like I said, it didn’t matter. I have one story of all the stories about Larry that tickles me the most.

It has to do with my aviation design skills. After discovering the plastic sheeting in the shipyard, I thought about its use as material for making a large kite. As has been mentioned we had a lot of free time in this phase of our friendship because the submarine crew was still early in its formation. One particular day was exceptionally slack. I chose this day to build the kite of my dreams. I had the plan in my head and Larry was as excited as I when I told him some of the particulars. We procured some of the sheet plastic and squirrelled it out of the yard and to my house in Hampton. I lived very close to Mercury Boulevard, a divided thoroughfare that carried a lot of traffic into the center of Newport News from the southern towns of this tidewater peninsula. Also, as previously mentioned, my neighborhood bordered Langley Air Force Base. C-130 Hercules aircraft continually were circling overhead and landing on the nearby airstrips.

To continue; we then bought two ten-foot lengths of two-by-two spruce for the kite frame. The intent was to make a kite ten feet long and six feet wide. The ratio of length to width needn’t be too critical. Not for the first try anyway. It didn’t take us very long to craft the frame. We just nailed the two pieces at the junction in the middle and trusted that the sheet plastic would keep it all from scissoring. Then we used a staple gun to attach the plastic. What a noble kite! It was taking shape and we were getting giddy thinking of this lovely creation flying across Hampton, Virginia!

I hadn’t thought through the complete structure so when we got to finding a stabilizer tail for the kite we were stumped. It would have to be something decent since the frame, with covering, weighed nearly thirty pounds. The answer was easier than I thought. I convinced my wife that one of our double-bed sheets was critical to the completion of this unholy experiment. Larry and I attached the sheet to the bottom of the frame with fishing line. We used the same fishing line as a bridle to complete the rig for towing and flying our monster.

Larry was equally handy as I with this evil exercise in stupidity. He provided a deep-sea fishing rod and reel. We didn’t know how many feet of line it held but just by looking we figured we had plenty to get the kite airborne. Using our combined life experiences, we tried to plan and predict all of the dangers we would face and all of the barriers we would need to surmount. What’s that saying about mice and men? We examined the reel drag mechanism and decided we would need heavy gloves for whoever was going to be the pilot. Larry was to use his Buick Special station wagon as a tow device so the pilot job fell to me. We seemed to be ready for the grand event.

We loaded the kite on top of the Buick and since I lived on a cul-de-sac, we needed to find a straight, quiet street for take off. We did so, right around the block. Thankfully, our kids were in school. They didn’t need to be witness to what was going to unfold in the next moments. I took a seat on the tailgate of the station wagon while Larry began driving slowly back toward the cul-de-sac. Sure enough the kite had plenty of wind surface and it happily lifted into the air as we approached my house. I shouted speed directions to Larry and he dutifully applied gas to the car in response. The plan was going smoothly. By the time we arrived at my house the kite was twenty feet in the air and straining to go higher.

With the vehicle stopped in front of my house I jumped off the tailgate and felt the monster straining to get away. The rod drag mechanism was letting the line out and the kite was rising rapidly. It was a thing of beauty. Larry and I were shouting encouragement to the beast as it steadily pulled out the fishing line and streamed skyward. What a sight! The sheet-stabilizer was waving and snapping and the kite swung left to right and back. It was alive! But, I was worried. There was no holding it back! The deep-sea rig was not effective in controlling the rate of feed of fishing line. I tried using my thumbs against the spinning reel to no effect. The kite was now several hundred feet high and under no control from the ground. The wind had it and no one was in charge.

Larry could see the panic on my face. He didn’t know what to do. He began to bounce in circles trying to come up with a solution. The kite was escaping and that is when we heard a C-130 Hercules approaching the area above my neighborhood. It was flying low. Not unusual for this time of day and where it was headed. The aircraft was on landing approach toward the airstrip just a few miles ahead of it. The Hercules was lumbering along with intent on coming back to earth not far from where our kite was nobly flying in great swinging arcs left and right and back again.

What happened next is no clearer today than it was fifty-five years ago. My gloved thumbs began to smoke from the heat from the kite string streaking out from the reel. I had applied all the drag that was available and my pressing thumbs were catching on fire! I was in a lot of pain and in great panic. Larry was now frozen in place. Both of us were wide-eyed and mouths agape. The aircraft was banking away from the kite. Larry and I were ineffective in all activities alive in the moment. The kite string suddenly went slack. The bitter end flew off the reel and the kite began to nose dive without the resistance of the deep-sea rig. My thumbs extinguished themselves. I was holding an empty rod and reel. Larry and I could only stare skyward at the diving kite. It was nose diving with the sheet strung out behind. The thing was approaching the ground from on high at a great speed. Larry and I came the same conclusion simultaneously. The kite was heading for Mercury Boulevard like a kamikaze pilot. Both of us yelled, “Holy shit!”. We ran for the station wagon. We needed to get over to the highway in case of a major casualty. Neither of us wanted to see what was going to happen but we had a good idea.

The noise of the kite hitting the ground by the highway was so loud; like a gunshot. We drove like maniacs toward the noise on Mercury Boulevard. When we arrived at the crash site, we were relieved to see the wreckage on the median. We were lucky dogs! The debris of the wooden frame and the plastic sheeting plus all of the fishing line were piled on the median. No pile-up of cars and trucks. No flashing red and blue lights. Larry and I both assumed attitudes of concerned citizens who happened to be traveling along the highway. As good, concerned citizens we surveyed the damaged apparatus lying there on the ground, pulled over, and carefully removed all identifying debris. We piled the bits of wood and trash inside the Buick Special and drove away toward home.

We didn’t say a word to each other. We couldn’t. We were laughing so hard we couldn’t talk. Larry and I finished our great kite flying adventure with a six pack at my house. The kite tail survived the ordeal luckily. Happily, no one from Langley showed up in my neighborhood. Lucky dogs indeed!

Larry and I had quite a few lesser adventures until I left the Carver. I left in 1968 after being selected for Warrant Officer on patrol number 3. He stayed aboard for many more patrols and experiences. Larry became more and more senior while on Carver. He went from paygrade E-5 to E-9 and was selected to be the Chief-of-the-boat, COB. Larry did well. He served on a few more submarines and then he retired after twenty years of service. Larry moved back to Arkansas when he got out of the canoe club. We didn’t communicate at all afterward. Typical of sailors. I guess we tend to move on.

Larry died in Arkansas in 2011. I had found him on Facebook and we talked a little. It was too soon. I miss Larry. He was a real human being. Big and fun and up for most things. A great shipmate. You can find Larry on Facebook. Larry Luttrell. His page is still up. 

Farewell, Larry. I knew your value from the start. Sailor, rest your oar. I have the watch.

G. M. Goodwin
June 17, 2020