"Lucked Out Again"

Gunner Mintz

"Lucked Out Again"


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From time to time we meet someone who marks our memory with the indelible impression that only some extraordinary feat of mind can leave behind. Gunner Mintz left such a mark on my memory.

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The first time I met Gunner Mintz was in 1955 at the Service School Command (SSC), part of the Naval Training Center (NTC) at Great Lakes, Illinois.I was newly out of boot camp there and was attending FT “A” school where I was receiving the basic training given to Navy Fire Control Technicians (FTs).

My first of two meetings with Gunner Mintz arose from the circumstances surrounding my promotion to Seaman.

As was the policy at that time, upon graduation from boot camp I was automatically promoted from Seaman Recruit (SR) to Seaman Apprentice (SA). My next promotion, to Seaman (SN), required me to take and pass a competitive examination, as would all promotions thereafter. The Seaman examina­tions were administered every six months. But, to be eligible, I first had to spend six months in grade as a Seaman Apprentice.

When the time approached for the administration of the Seaman examinations in the fall of 1955, a list of those eligible to take the examination was posted outside the office of the Chief Master‑at‑Arms of the FT school. My name wasn’t on the list but I didn’t expect to see it because I wasn’t eligible. I did not have the required six months in grade. Then, a couple of weeks later, the date and time of the test were posted, along with the names of the people who were supposed to take it. Much to my surprise my name was on this list of test takers. I had nothing to lose, so, at the appointed time and place, I went in with those who were eligible and took the test. The following week, the names of those who passed the test were posted. My name was not on the list. I had failed the test. The week after that, a list of those who would be promoted to Seaman on November 16th was posted. My name was on it.

On the 16th of November, 1955, I sewed on the three white diagonal stripes identifying me as a Seaman First Class. I also started shooting off my mouth about how screwed up the Navy was. I wasn’t eligible but I took the test; I didn’t pass it but I was promoted.

One day, shortly after my mouth got out of control, I was directed to report to Gunner Mintz in the school’s administrative offices. Gunner Mintz was a commissioned warrant officer, a chief warrant officer (W‑4), a species of seagoing life that even admirals are said to approach with caution. Gunner Mintz had risen from the ranks of the enlisted ordnance ratings, hence the title “Gunner.” He was also the living embodiment of “lean and mean.” Salt‑and‑pepper hair worn in a close­ly‑cropped crew‑cut framed a leathery face holding two ice‑blue eyes rumored to be capa­ble of piercing 16‑inch armor plate. I knew for a fact he could see right through me.

I stood at attention in front of Gunner Mintz’ desk, barely 18 years old and scared half out of my wits. I had no idea what he wanted but, whatever he wanted, I knew it wasn’t going to be good news for me.

“Nickols,” he said, “we all know you got promoted by accident. Things like that sometimes happen in a system this big. If you were smart, you’d keep your mouth shut and be thankful you lucked out. If you don’t keep your mouth shut you’re not going to leave the rest of us any choice except to remedy that mistake. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

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Eight years later, in 1963, I once again found myself at Great Lakes. This time I was attending FT “B” School where I was receiving advanced training for FTs. I wandered up to the administrative offices and surveyed the photographs on the staff roster board outside the offices. Much to my surprise and delight, Gunner Mintz’ picture was there but he was no longer “Gunner” Mintz; in the intervening eight years he had been promoted to Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) and he was now the officer in charge (OIC) of the FT school. I had a promotion in the offing, too, and thought to impress Gunner (now Lieutenant Commander) Mintz with my good fortune.

I had just arrived at “the Lakes” from a tour of duty at the White Sands Missile Range (WSMR) in New Mexico. About a month before leaving the missile range, I’d taken the service‑wide competitive examination for promotion to pay grade E-6 or first‑class petty officer (FTG1). The examination center where the competitive advancement examinations were scored was located at Great Lakes and I was hoping to find someone who could tell me if I had passed and would be promoted. Sure enough, I came across a friend with whom I’d served on my first ship. As luck would have it, my friend had a friend at the examination center and, two weeks before the results were officially announced, I learned that I would be promoted to E‑6.

On the first day I could officially wear my first‑class “crow” (the nickname for a petty officer’s badge of rank), I headed straight for the school administrative offices with the unabashed­ly prideful intent of demonstrating to Gunner Mintz that I, too, had advanced a fair bit in my career since last we had seen one another. I strode confidently past two open‑mouthed secretaries, both of whom were too astonished by my breach of protocol to stop me, and went directly to the open door of Gunner Mintz’ office where I knocked firmly on the wall next to it. I was making it perfectly clear that my days of shivering in front of authority figures were behind me.

Gunner Mintz, now LCDR Mintz, a man who hadn’t seen me in eight years and then had seen me only once, looked up from his desk, glanced at the upper portion of the left sleeve of my undress blue jumper, which I had turned toward him so he could see the emblem of my new rank (just one short of Chief Petty Officer) and, with a face completely devoid of expression, fixed those ice-blue eyes of his on me and said, “Well, Nickols, I see you lucked out again.”

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More than 45 years have passed since the day Gunner Mintz knocked the wind out of my sails and I haven’t seen him since. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. But to this day I envy that man his memory for names, faces and events. In that regard, I’ve never met a better man than Chief Warrant Officer (CWO-4) “Gunner” Mintz.