The liberty boat had just docked, bringing sailors from the USS Carl Vinson to shore.  This was our first port call, after being at sea for two months.  For reasons I could not even begin to understand, the Navy chose Pattaya Beach, Thailand as the place to let a bunch of 18 and 19 year old sailors loose for the first time on land in two months.  Pattaya Beach was well known for easily available drugs of every kind, free flowing alcohol with no age limits, and abundant crime.  I knew I would encounter some prostitution, as this was rampant in Pattaya Beach, but I did not expect to be overwhelmed by it immediately after setting foot on the pier.  The pier extended up to the boardwalk over the beach.  Both sides were lined with women, or more accurately, girls, dressed in high heels and short dresses.  They reached out towards the men, each desperately trying to make herself stand out in a sea of young prostitutes, hoping some sailor would choose her as the night’s entertainment.

”You want me love you, Joe?  I love you good.”

“Hey, Joe.  You pick me, I love real good.”

     They chanted their come-on lines in broken English.  Some of them looked like they couldn’t be more than twelve, playing dress-up in their older sister’s clothes.  I was absolutely stunned.  It was ten o’clock in the morning, for God’s sake.  I felt like I should do something, like send all these girls home and protect them from the lecherous crew members they were trying to impress.  I had never been so immersed in an environment where women were simply things to be bought, used for whatever purpose some sailor might have in mind, then be discarded and forgotten.  They should have been in school somewhere, not begging for some lowlife American to rent them for sex. 

     As we got farther from the pier, the prostitutes became less prevalent and less aggressive.  The streets in this section of town were lined with bars as far as you could see.  We recognized Americans in many of the bars, happily enjoying their opportunity for under-age drinking.  What a contrast to the dignified departure from Bremerton two months earlier.

     The USS Carl Vinson had left Bremerton on a hot July morning, with throngs of people lining the pier and news helicopters flying overhead.  The deck of the ship was lined by sailors in their dress whites, standing at attention as the aircraft carrier began its deployment to the Persian Gulf.  I was assigned as the Ship’s Surgeon, a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy Medical Corps.

     The crew had trained vigorously, and eagerly awaited the opportunity to get a break from ship life.  Prior to port calls, everyone goes through a briefing to familiarize them with local customs.  The crew was informed of what areas of Pattaya Beach were considered safe, and what places were off limits.  There was a long presentation on prostitution and the dangers of illicit drug use.  I guess this was the military’s effort to appear to be responsible, but some of the crew viewed it as more of a how-to guide to partying in Pattaya Beach. A series of photos of seductive-looking young Thai girls was shown.  At the end, it was revealed that they were all males.  It is common practice in Thailand for boys to dress as females and prostitute themselves to unknowing tourists.  After the usual alcohol and drug use, the customers don’t realize they are actually having anal sex with a male prostitute.  Or maybe at that point they just don’t care.  Illicit drugs were readily available and there was absolutely no limit on who would be able to buy alcohol.  Of course, the ship’s policy was that if anyone was caught, there would be severe penalties.   

     I found our pharmacy tech engulfed in a sea of boxes in the corridor.

“What is all this?” I asked.

“Antibiotics, m’am,” he replied.

“What are you expecting, a biologic warfare attack or something?” I questioned.

“Well, we are prepared to treat one thousand cases of gonnorhea, Chlamydia, trichomonas and even syphilis.  We’ve got some ointments for scabies and crabs.  Yes, m’am, I guess you could call it biologic warfare.”

“One thousand cases of STD’s (sexually transmitted diseases)?  That’s almost a fourth of the ship!”

“Those are based on review of records from previous carrier stops here,” he replied.

“How much does all this cost?  The taxpayers of America are having their money spent so a bunch of sailors can screw a bunch of disease-ridden hookers in Thailand!  If we know this happens, why are we stopping there at all?” I demanded.

     He paused for a minute, knowing that I was on the edge of a tirade regarding the evils of prostitution.

“M’am, I am a simple corpsman.  I do not choose what dangers our crew are exposed to, but I am bound by my duty to this crew, to my country, and to my God to safeguard their health and well-being to the best of my ability.”

     I rolled my eyes.  “Well, aren’t you a model corpsman.”  I left him there sorting and charting antibiotics to prepare for the onslaught of venereal disease that was about to hit the ship.

     The ship arrived in the Gulf of Thailand and anchored.  I was on call the first night of liberty.  Tomorrow, the oral surgeon and I would join some of the other medical officers to start our leave. 

     At about eight-forty pm, SMO (Senior Medical Officer) called the ship looking for me.  The medical department had set up a mobile medical unit on the boardwalk.  He needed me and some corpsmen to come over to the beach.

 “Tell the corpsmen to be ready to stay the night over here, and bring bags of fluid and stuff to start a bunch of IV’s,” he instructed.

      As we approached in the speedboat, I saw the tent surrounded by guys lying on the ground.  Some were rolled to their sides vomiting, some were laughing, some were being downright belligerent. 

“The nine o’clock curfew guys started showing up about an hour ago.  If they aren’t on the ship by nine, they are considered AWOL.  A good number of them are too drunk to board the liberty boats.  If someone falls in the water and drowns because they’re trashed, the captain’s not gonna be happy,” SMO said grumpily.

     As the crowd of completely inebriated sailors grew, we started to attract quite a bit of local attention.  Unfortunately, we were spreading out onto the sandy beach.  Security had to keep a constant eye to prevent pickpockets from descending on the passed-out crew men on the periphery.  By midnight, we had almost seventy crew members strewn out, in various stages of drunkenness.  Some were high or stoned on something they had gotten hold of in town.

     I spent half the night looking after the drunks, then went back to the ship.  I started my leave the next morning, and by the time Greg, our oral surgeon, and I reached the pier covered in prostitutes, last night’s drunks were gone.

     We took a taxi to our hotel and met some of the other medical officers.  The hotel was beautiful, very different from the grungy, cheap areas along the pier, with no girls for sale as far as I could see.

     After two days in Pattaya, we took a bus up to Bangkok.  Towards evening, we ventured into the Patpong district, which probably was a big mistake.  It is the biggest night market in Bangkok, and we thought it would be fun to explore.  It is also one of the most notorious sex trade destinations in the whole world.  At every turn, someone was trying to convince you to come see their show.  They targeted the men in our group, sticking flyers in their hands.  These showed a drawing of a Thai girl with her legs spread apart and balls dropping from between them.  A popular entertainment act is for girls to insert ping pong balls into their vagina, then shoot them out while men watch.  You could watch any type of sexual encounter possible.  It was another constant assault by prostitutes who looked fourteen years old.  I learned later that a good number of the market vendors were former prostitutes who got too old, or got pregnant too many times to be successful in the sex shows.  Tourists want girls, not women, for sex.

 “I’m glad we are here with women, because this could be a complete disaster if we were on our own,” Jacob, our anesthetist, remarked as he was handed his fourth or fifth ping pong ball flyer.

 “Why, are you afraid you might get kidnapped by a pack of prostitutes?” Julie, our physical therapist, asked.

“Well, no, but if it was just a bunch of guys, someone would say we should go in, just out of curiosity.  Then someone would say ‘I’ll go if you go’. Then it would become a thing, and everyone would go.”

“So the only thing making you act like a decent human being is the fact that women are with you?” I exclaimed, outraged.             

“Or that we might tell your wife?” Julie added.

“Well, no, but don’t you think most guys would just be curious, not that they think it’s okay, but just curious,” he tried to explain. 

“No, that is total bullshit.  If you think something is wrong, for instance, child prostitution, then you don’t spend your money to support it,” I declared.

     Julie punched him in the arm hard.  “Not all men are pigs like you, some men can think for themselves.” 

“Okay, you are blowing this way out of proportion, as always.  I just should have kept my mouth shut,” he retorted.

     At just that time a Thai man came up to shove a flyer in Jacob’s hand.  He backed up and very emphatically told the guy he was not interested.

“And you should learn to respect women!” he shouted as the guy was leaving. 

     Back at the hotel, I was met with several urgent messages from SMO.  The CO (Commanding Officer) wanted me to get back to the ship immediately to do an autopsy.

“I don’t do autopsies,” I said, confused.

“You know how to cut someone open and look around.  We need an autopsy done, but we would rather not have it done by the Thai government,” SMO explained.

“When I am done cutting someone open and looking around, they wake back up.  An autopsy is a totally different thing.  I’m not qualified to do that.  I don’t think I can do that.  Who’s dead?” I inquired.

“Well, it’s not good.  The Captain wants things kept quiet, because this could turn into a real nightmare.  One of the E-1’s was found dead in a hotel in one of the restricted sections of Pattaya.  He didn’t make his curfew.  His buddies last saw him at this hotel where they had a bunch of prostitutes and were drinking and trying some drugs.  They went back this morning and found him dead. A few of the prostitutes were still there.”

“So he overdosed on something.  Did they even know he was dead?” I asked.

“They had no idea.  They figured he was sleeping it off.  The local Thai police showed up before any of our people got there.  The body is in a morgue at the Pattaya Hospital.  Since it was on shore, it’s their jurisdiction.  Our CO wants it back in our hands.”

“Well, I can’t do an autopsy.  I have no idea how to do toxicology samples, and that’s what is going to matter.  If this turns into any kind of legal proceeding, there is no one on the planet who would say I was qualified to do this autopsy,” I stated.  I was utterly amazed that anyone would have considered this a reasonable idea.  SMO said they were checking their options on how to proceed, and the ship’s lawyer was involved.  I tracked down our JAG officer, who had been called back to the ship as soon as they realized they had a dead crew member.  She agreed that it was ridiculous to consider having me do the autopsy.  The body couldn’t come back to the ship anyway, we had four more months at sea.  There were more calls back and forth between the JAG, SMO, the CO, and the Thai officials.  As it turned out, the autopsy and investigation was handled by the Thai police.  Separate toxicology samples were collected by American military personnel who came from somewhere.  The body was eventually flown back to the States and released to the family.  Tox screens were consistent with death from an overdose.  The kid was nineteen.  What a dreadful end for this kid, to die of a drug overdose in some seedy hotel in Pattaya Beach, surrounded by prostitutes who didn’t even notice he was dead.  When your son joins the military, they speak of honor and courage and pride.  The parents know their child may sacrifice his life defending our country.  But to die this way?                 

     Despite efforts to keep things quiet, rumors were swirling around about the death.  Once we had pulled up anchor and were heading out, the CO addressed the crew. 

“The USS Carl Vinson represents the most powerful, respected military force in the world.   We represent the United States of America.  This crew has let the American people down.  The behavior in Pattaya Beach has damaged the reputation of the USS Carl Vinson, and is an embarrassment to the United States Navy.  We had over seventy sailors not make curfew due to irresponsible use of alcohol.  These sailors met legal criteria to be considered AWOL, which is  grounds for dishonorable discharge.  Because of bad judgement and poor choices, we lost a sailor.  We lost a valuable member of the Carl Vinson family.  He was a good kid who made a bad decision.  His buddies didn’t have the honor or the courage to stand up and make the right choice, either.  This does not show the world the discipline, honor and strength of character that we strive towards.  The crew of the Carl Vinson has failed miserably, for all the world to see.  I expected better, and you have disappointed me.  Now we must work to restore the reputation of the Carl Vinson.  Each of you must look deep inside and find the strength and moral character that brought you here.”

     We listened for almost ten more minutes as the CO chastised the crew for their reprehensible behavior.  We heard in excruciating detail what shame we brought to America.  I was getting more and more irritated as he continued. 

“What a bunch of total hypocrites,” I exclaimed.  “They bring a bunch of eighteen and nineteen year old boys who have been cooped up on a ship for months and turn them loose in the worst possible place in the world.  They are inundated with hookers the second they set foot on land, and could walk up to any of about thirty bars and get any kind of drug or booze they could possibly want.  They act like they had no idea this might happen.”

     Everyone agreed with me, but no one thought it was a good idea to march up to the CO’s office and express this opinion.  When you have to spend days lecturing sailors to stay away from the prostitutes, drugs and alcohol that will constantly be offered to them at every turn, you probably just shouldn’t go there.

     The more I learned about Pattaya Beach, the more disgusted I was that the United States military would schedule port calls here. It was originally a fishing village, but back in the late sixties was developed as a place where American soldiers in Vietnam could come for prostitutes, drugs and alcohol.  Even today, it’s known worldwide as a place to come if you are interested in having sex with children.  If you look up Pattaya Beach on current travel web sites, “Thai ladies” get listed as a main tourist attraction.  There is extreme poverty in the northern farming areas, and girls from these villages come to work in the Go-Go bars, sex shows, or as prostitutes, sending money back to their families.  Often girls are sold, or simply abducted at ages as young as nine or ten.  With no money, no family around, no education and no skills, they are left without options.  If they don’t cooperate, they often face violent reprimands.  One girl may service up to thirty or more men per week.  They end up hooked on alcohol and drugs, which just makes them more dependent on their pimps and sleazy clients.  Several organizations that track and try to curb child prostitution estimate that somewhere between thirty to forty percent of Thai prostitutes are children under the age of eighteen.  When I think of the wretched, miserable lives these girls lead, I can’t help but wonder what they were like when they were five or six, if they had dreams or hopes.  Did they think someday they might marry and have children and farm, like the generations before them?  Did they think maybe they would go to school, or work as a shopkeeper, or tailor, or a baker?  No little girl dreams of being forced to have sex with multiple men every night when she’s fourteen years old.  It is unbelievable the despicable treatment that human beings are willing to thrust upon each other. 

     The Medical Department was filled the following week, as expected, with sailors seeking treatment for various sexually transmitted diseases.

“Here comes the walk of shame,” the corpsman said, then explained.  The ‘Walk of Shame” was the particular way someone with an untreated STD walks, moving very slowly in a bow-legged fashion due to the burning pain in their genitals from whatever disease they had brought back from Thailand.  Being a member of the military was supposed to invoke honor and pride.  There was no honor here.  I was never more ashamed to be counted among those who serve their country by joining the Navy.  The whole ship was somber as we left Thailand, trying to shake off the devastating effects of our stop and refocus on our mission.  I just hoped we would be able to rediscover that sense of honor and duty that we had lost.  The Vinson pulled away from Pattaya, shrouded in its own Walk of Shame.