I was on the fantail watch: the most boring, sleep-inducing detail you can be assigned on an aircraft carrier. The watch entails being on the alert for any sailor who might fall overboard; it’s performed on the aft, or back end, of the ship. You must be very careful not to fall asleep, because the masters-at-arms, or ship police, are making rounds. If you’re caught sleeping, you will be sent to see the captain. Three days of confinement with bread and water as your only nourishment await as your punishment.

However, on this day, falling asleep was the last thing to worry about. I was on duty on a clear and calm day. The fantail was full of sailors milling about, some performing their assigned duties. My shipmate, Patrick Cayne—a tall, burly, and impetuous individual—happened to be assigned to the fantail as well. We were boatswain’s mates, the only division of sailors on ship who could carry knives on their belts (for the rope work our jobs often entailed).

It was during the Cold War, when drug enforcement was not as stringent as it is today. On this day, Seaman Cayne approached me and asked how I was doing. I told him, “I’m bored, homey.”

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pills. I noticed some were the infamous Biodramina D, a type of amphetamine one could easily obtain in many Spanish pharmacies over the counter—we had just docked in Barcelona a few days earlier. The pill was a favorite of watch-goers, as it helped you stay awake on those 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. graveyard shifts.

Among the pills in that big hand of his were others I did not recognize. I asked what they were. He said Seconal, a barbiturate. He invited me to take a few and I steadfastly refused.

I remember telling him, “I’m bored, but I ain’t that bored.”

My shipmate’s retort was, “Have it your way, but don’t ever say I never offered you anything.” He then, to my surprise, proceeded to drop the whole handful of pills down his throat.

I stood there totally stunned. I remember saying to myself, “Wow, he just downed a handful of goofballs, uppers and downers.” I thought he would take a couple, but not a fistful.

He looked at me with an impish smile, then took out his Buck knife and began to flick it open like he often did, right next to his ear.

I asked, “Why do you do that?”

He said, “I like the way it sounds when I flick it.” After a couple of clicks, he put the knife away. About a half-hour later, our petty officer ordered the fantail cleared of sailors, and gave Cayne the command to make it happen. Seaman Cayne then began telling sailors they had to clear out.

Two sailors didn’t leave right away. Cayne told them more gruffly to “leave now.” At the time, there happened to be a heavy metal dustpan at the feet of one of the sailors. They were rivals from another division, who didn’t like boatswain’s mates. Instead of leaving right away, one sailor picked up the metal dustpan and began to slam Cayne five or six times about the head.

Before Cayne realized what had happened, the sailor dropped the dustpan and fled. The drugs at this point had just started kicking in. Enraged, Cayne took out his knife, flicked it open next to his ear, and proceeded to chase the sailor through a bulkhead and down the corridor.

Cayne returned shortly thereafter, knife in hand, not having caught the guy. The sailor’s buddy hadn’t moved, and was still standing on the fantail. Still in a rage, Cayne grabbed that sailor by the collar, knocked him down, and was about to stab the man in his chest.

At that point, I entered into crisis mode. I removed my bulky headphones, and lunged at Cayne. I got ahold of his arm, and used his momentum to take him to the ground.

The knife fell. The fortunate sailor got up and ran away.

I then attempted to calm Cayne down. He told me he was fine, but he wasn’t. His knife was still nearby. As Cayne began to stand, he quickly picked it up and proceeded to enter the jet engine room, which was adjacent to the fantail.

Cayne was still delirious and not finished going berserk. I chased after him, but got there too late. He had grabbed another sailor, and had his Buck knife to that sailor’s throat.

Before chasing Cayne down, I had called the masters-at-arms’ shack: “Mayday! Mayday! Sailor going berserk on the fantail. Bring reinforcement immediately. I repeat: immediately!”

When I entered the jet engine room, I got real close to Cayne. Since he was a homeboy from the Bronx, I felt comfortable enough to get in his face. I began to speak softly, and counsel him not to go through with his threat to cut the man’s throat. I began shouting this to him after calm speech was getting nowhere.

The sailor was pleading for his life. I told Cayne he would go to prison for a long time if he followed through. His eyes looked crazed from the drugs and the rage he was still in. I stalled him long enough for the master-at-arms to arrive.

As soon as he saw them, he dropped his knife and let the sailor go. The master-at-arms began to arrest him without a struggle, and take him away.

Afterward, I felt relieved that no one was hurt and was proud of the fact that I helped save two sailors’ lives. But I was disappointed and resentful that this was not acknowledged by my superiors. It was ignored, and treated like just another day at the office. It wasn’t. It was an instrumental day in my young life.

Days later, before Seaman Cayne was sent up to see the captain, I asked him why he went off so bad. His response was that he didn’t want to be in the navy anymore and saw it as an opportunity to get out. Well, after he served some time in the brig he wound up getting his wish, as he was given a general discharge due to a personality disorder.

After the whole incident was over, the fantail watch would never be boring for me again. I had arrived at a different outlook. I enjoyed looking out to sea, and taking in the whole panorama as the aircraft landed on board right above me, all the while keeping watch for those who might fall over—for the unfortunate soul who might go overboard into a deep and inhospitable sea.