August 2, 1983: Auckland, NZ

The USS Texas (CGN-39) was escorting the USS Carl Vinson (CVN-70) from Virginia to California the long way around when we were pulled from the carrier group to wave the flag on a tour of the south Pacific. Tough job, that -- four ports in Australia, one in Tonga, and two in New Zealand. Meanwhile, the Vinson was frolicking in the Indian Ocean. But, hey, someone had to drink all that beer and dance all night to David Bowie, the Clash, and the Eurythmics.

But our visit to NZ, at least, seemed poorly timed, as the country was embroiled in a passionate debate about becoming a nuclear-free zone. Or, maybe the timing was deliberate by someone in the Reagan Administration who thought that having the Texas drop into Auckland and Wellington with two nuclear reactors and a bunch of we-can-neither-confirm-nor-deny nuclear weapons would convince the Kiwis that they should just relax because, you know, everybody likes a little nukie. If that was the plan, it failed miserably: we were the last nuclear ship, and possibly the last American warship, to visit New Zealand. And, by giving the anti-nuclear faction something tangible to rally against, I'll always wonder whether we unintentionally helped NZ to become nuclear-free.

We entered Auckland's harbor on August 2, with most off-duty sailors manning the rails, and were greeted by some two hundred small boats of all kinds protesting our visit. The largest boat, a launch, carried a man with a bullhorn who shouted, "We love you but not your ship! You are welcome, but your ship is not!" over and over. (The NZ Herald said that a member of Parliament was aboard the launch, but I don't know if he was the man with the bullhorn.) Police boats dashed frenetically around us, keeping most of the boats away.

As I stood on the starboard side of the fo'c'sle at parade rest, wondering if we were going to run over some impassioned protester in a rowboat, I saw a brown sphere maybe 8" in diameter pop up against the gunwale and then disappear. It popped up again, moved aft, and dropped out of sight. As it bobbed down the gunwale aftward toward me, I recognized it as the top of a sailing mast. The boat was just too close to our hull for me to see it. The newspaper called it "the dory Mahatma Gandhi"; days later a policeman, laughing, told me that the boat had lost sail and its owner was frantically pushing off our hull, trying to get out of the way.

The NZ Herald from August 3, 1983 ran the story and pictures of the "Conflict on the Harbour." (It's a large pdf.)

And then came Hiroshima Day....