Life is precarious at sea and death can snatch you unexpectedly. One peaceful evening in the Pacific we were headed West into the setting sun. The sky was the medley of iridescent colors common to the South Pacific ... turquoise, orange, green, yellow. The ship's bow was slicing directly through long swells, rising and dipping rhythmically in harmony with the swells.

We had just finished the evening meal in the wardroom and a few of us headed toward the bow of the ship on the weather deck to enjoy the view and get some air. There we encountered others of the crew also relaxing.

After a short while three of us headed aft back toward the superstructure and tripod mast base. We had just reached the base of the mast when water about a foot deep washed over our shoes and pant legs. We grabbed the ladders on the mast and held on.

A tragedy had occurred. The gentle rise and fall of the ship's bow had turned deadly. For some reason the bow had dug into one of the swells bringing a wall of water over the deck into the lounging crew. All the crew but one had saved themselves by holding on to stanchions or the lifeline that ringed the weather deck.

Not as fortunate was John T. S. Och, Lt.(jg), (Pat), married, father of two children, who was swept overboard. We circled back and forth over our course until darkness forced us to abandon the search. No one ever saw Pat again or found his body.

The theory was that he had gone over the side and through one of our four screws, been injured and unable to surface.

Written by Robert J. Serazin, Lt. (jg)
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