Gobsmacking Goodness!

Let’s give a rousing Raccoon welcome to Ms. E. aka Mizze, who has started a new blog:
http://gobsmackedagain.blogspot.com/Regular readers of One Cosmos are well aware of Ms. E’s excellent commentary and gobsmacking links!
Check out her blog, and find out where gobsmacking originated, heh!
But there is more, and I plan on a daily reading of her gobsmacking (gotta love that word) Coonbits, deep in the heart of Texas!!

Posted by USS Ben USN (Ret) at 5:58 PM    

 

2 comments:

MizzE said…

In case, ya’ll are wondering if, besides being gobsmacked, Raccoons blush – heck yea.Many thanks Cap’n Ben for your good-humor urging attention my way. Seems promotion is a two-way street even board ship. Heh cosmatey?

March 24, 2007 9:33 PM  

uss ben said…

Cosmatey works Mizze!
11 out of 12 Cosmomates agree!
The CoonO’sphere squadron is growing, and keeping the see lanes open!

Welcome Aboard!

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Larson took me to the Operations berthing compartment and showed me where my rack and locker was.

Oh joy, another top rack. Wasn’t expecting that. At least they have curtains, which means some privacy.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a metal tube and what looked like those “fans” on airplanes.

“That’s the air. When you turn it on air blows out on your face and chest. It’s not A/C but it’s better than nothin’ when it gets hot,” Larson said.

I clicked it on. Nothin’.

“It doesn’t work. The yardbirds are fixing it or somethin’. It was supposed to be fixed months ago,” he chuckled.

“Terrific,” I said, disappointed.

“Get used to it. Bein’ in the yards sucks,” Larson said.
“There’s always stuff that’s broken, like some of the showers, plumbing problems galore, electrical problems. The strike isn’t helping matters,” he continued.

“Strike? But I saw some yardworkers welding on the way here,” I said.

“Scabs. Those are the guys the bosses call in during strikes. But there aren’t enough of them, and we’re now behind schedule. Know what that means?” Larson asked.

“We will be here longer?” I answered, somewhat bewildered.

Larson laughed, shaking his head no.

“No way! Do ya think the Captain and his bosses are going to tell their bosses the Duluth isn’t going to be fixed up on time? Not a chance!” Larson exclaimed.

“Well, then what?” I asked.

“We are going to do what the yardbirds are supposed to do. At least until the strike is over. We are working a few hours extra each day on top of that. If we don’t catch up, you can count on even more hours. Welcome to paradise,” said Larson, sarcastically.

Oh joy. I can hardly wait, I thought.

“Anyways, hurry up and get your stuff stowed, then I’ll show you where Combat is,”
Larson said.

I quickly unpacked my seabag and locked up my lockers.

“Should I change to dungarees?” I asked.

“Later. You won’t be doin’ any dirty work ’til tomorrow. Besides, you want to make a good impression. Gotta learn to play the game, you know?” Larson said matter of factly.

Game? I never really thought of work in the Navy in those terms.

“My uniform is dirty,” I said, looking at my sweat-soaked shirt and the smudges the dust had made.

“You look alright. But if you wanna change your shirt then go for it,” he said, lighting up a smoke.

“Do I have time to take a shower?” I asked.

“The water is off down here until 1800. They’re workin’ on the plumbing or somethin’.
Just throw on some extra deoderant,” Larson chuckled.

Crap! This sucks! I thought. What kind of welcome is this?

I changed my shirt and t-shirt, spraying on alot of extra right guard.

“Hey! You’ll get used to it. We all stink most of the day, some more than others,” Larson said laughing.
“They’re gonna think your a french whore,” he continued.

Ha ha! Very funny, I thought, not feeling the humor.

“Okay! Let’s go then,” I said tersely, buttoning up my shirt.

“Now don’t get mad. I was just funnin’ you. My name’s Al, but everyone calls me Larson,” he said, putting his hand out.

“Ben Conrad,” I said, shaking his hand. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting this,” I said.

“No bigee. The love boat this ain’t,” he said, laughing.

I folloed Larson up the ladder, down the passageway, took a detour back down, then back up, across the mess decks, forward and up, and up to the 0-2 level, until we finally reached Combat.

This Combat is big, I thought, compared to the Henderson.

“Hey Chief, here’s the new guy, Conrad,” Larson said.

The Chief looked up from his desk in the back of Combat. He was a small man with Navy issue thick-framed (black) glasses, which were popular in the ’50’s.
Apparently, the Navy saw no reason to change it’s fashion statement.

“Chief Manning. Welcome aboard Conrad,” he said, getting up and shaking my hand.

“Thanks Chief,” I said.

“Want some coffee?” Chief asked.

“Aye Chief. I sure do,” I said, suddenly very thirsty.

“Help yourself. We have some styrafoam cups, but we run out often, so you’ll want to get your own cup from the ship’s store if you drink much java,” he said.

I grabbed the cups which were covered with dust of course. I took a cup out and wiped the dust off, and poured a cup.

“Have a seat, Conrad” Chief said, pointing to the chair on the other side of his desk.

I sat down and sipped some java. Damn! That’s bitter and strong! I thought, but thankful nonetheless.

“Coming from A school?” Chief asked.

“No, the Henderson,” I said. “They’re sellin’ her to Pakistan.”

“Damn shame. Let me see your orders and records.” Chief said.

“Right here Chief,” I said, handing him both.

Larson lit up a cigarette, and I followed suit. It felt good to relax, even though the coffee wasn’t good.
I wondered where everyone else was, looking around at all the radio handsets and headsets, RADAR repeaters, DRT, Navigation table, status boards, IFF, TACAN…what was that room to the side?

“Nice evals!” Chief said, still reading.

“Thanks Chief,” I said, sitting up straighter.

“Is this right? You were the Captains cook?” Chief asked.

“That’s right. The real cook went AWOL,” I said.

“Ha ha ha! Poof! Your a cook! That’s bizarre,” Chief said laughing.

“You have no idea Chief,” I said, smiling.

“93% in A School. Pretty good,” Chief mumbled, flipping through my records.
“Looks like your up for Seaman in November,” Chief said. “Ouch! Dislocated shoulder?
Those hurt,” Chief continued.

“Man, they sure do!” Larson said. “I dislocated my right shoulder when I was a kid.
We were…”

“Wait a minute! This is a private conversation Larson. This is personal information. Take a walk for a few minutes. Go find Mike while your at it,” Chief said.

“Okay Chief!” Larson said, leaving.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t know he was listening in,” Chief said.

“No problem Chief,” I said.

No harm done, I thought. At least Chief didn’t read out loud how I dislocated my shoulder.

“Ha ha! Did all this really happen with your shoulder, and concussion?” Chief asked.

“Yes it did Chief,” I said, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry. The only one’s who will know is me, the Division officer, Department head, XO, CO, and Doc’s,” the Chief said, smiling.

Wonderful. Why not announce it over the 1MC, I thought. Was that dust in my coffee?

Chief closed my records, and handed them back to me.

“Muster is at 0700 sharp on the foc’sle. We normally work until 1800, depending on our progress. Hopefully this is temporary, depending on when the strike ends. Did Larson tell you about that?” Chief asked.

“Aye Chief,” I said.

“I’ll tell you up front, I don’t care what you do on liberty as long as you stay out of trouble. I hate drugs, so don’t let me catch you with any onboard, understood?”
He asked, staring into my eyes.

“No problem there Chief,” I said.

“Good. I know some of the men smoke pot and maybe do drugs when their on liberty.
I don’t like it, but there is nothing I can do about it, unless they are caught with drugs onboard. Stay away from those guys, they are nothing but trouble! I wish we had a urinalysis program, but right now we don’t. Drugs are a big problem, and so is gambling and slushers, or loan sharks.
I can’t emphasize this enough. Stay away from those guys!” Chief said, looking upset.

“Aye Chief!” I said.

“Work hard and stay out of trouble and we’ll get along fine. If you have any questions or problems I’ll be glad to help out, but go to Mike, OS1 Martin first.
I believe in the chain of command, so I expect you to use it. Never, ever go over my head, or anyone elses, or you will regret it. If you don’t like what OS1, or I say or do in regards to any problems, you can go higher, but you have to see us first.
I just want to be clear on that,” Chief said, still staring me in the eyes.

“Aye Chief! Perfectly clear!” I exclaimed.

He’s starting to bug me with that staring, I thought.

“What’s up Chief?” A first class, I assumed OS1 Martin, asked, as he entered CIC.

He was a big man, and looked somewhat like a Samoan or Native American.

“Mike, this is OSSA Conrad. I need you to get him checked into Personnel, and show him around,” Chief said.

I stood up and shook his massive hand. No test of strength, fortunately, I thought.

“Okay, follow me,” Mike said. “And welcome aboard,” he added.

“Thanks Petty Officer Martin,” I said.

“Mike. Call me Mike, unless officers are around,” Mike said.

“Okay Mike,” I said.

“Larson, go help those guys on the mast,” Mike said, as we were leaving.

Mast? Did he say mast?

“I thought I was showing Conrad around,” Larson said.

“I’m doing that. Tell Rutherford we need another needlegun,” Mike said.

“I’ll tell him, but I know they’re out. Whatever we get in the morning is pretty much it for the rest of the day,” Larson said.

“Damnit! Then tell him to get more chipping hammers and sand paper. We’ll do it by hand until we can get more pneumatic and power tools,” said Mike.

“What about the sander?” Larson asked.

“It broke too. Look, I don’t have time for this. Return the broken tools and get the hammers and sand paper,” Mike said. “Rutherford is in charge until I get back.”

“Alright Mike. See ya later,” Larson said.

We are working on the mast? I wondered.

As we made our way to Personnel, Mike looked at my orders.

“You were on the Henderson?” He asked.

“Aye. For 3 months,” I said.

“Why only 3 months?” He asked.

“They sold her to Pakistan,” I said.

“Sh^t! Are you serious?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, sorry to say,” I said.

“I had a friend on there. He got transferred before you arrived. Jim is going to be pissed when he finds out!” Mike exclaimed.

“I don’t blame him,” I said.

When we arrived at Personnel there was a line.

“Hurry up and wait,” Mike said, looking at his watch.

“Ain’t that the truth,” I said.

“Did Larson get you a rack and locker assignments?” Mike asked.

“Aye, no problem,” I said.

“Good. When we get done here, Conrad, you can go change into your dungarees. I doubt you’ll see the XO or Captain today. They’re both off the ship right now,” Mike said.

“Ben. Call me Ben, unless officers are around,” I said, smiling.

“Ben it is,” Mike said, laughing.

“So Mike, what are you doing on the mast?” I asked.

“Getting the rust off, and old paint. When we finish that we will put some primer on it and then paint it,” he said. “That includes the yard arms,” he added.

“Damn,” I said.

“Damn is right. The yardbirds were supposed to do it. Now we have to. F*cking union,” Mike said.

USS Duluth (LPD-6)

 Report to USS Duluth (LPD-6) located at Todd Shipyards, San Pedro, CA, blah blah blah, the orders read.

The first thing I noticed about Todd Shipyards was the loud cacophany of noises.
Crowds of shipyard workers and sailors moving to and fro, cranes craning, welders welding, grinders grinding, pneumatic needle guns needling, paint-chipping hammers chipping, sanders sanding, blow-torches torching, and workers (civilian and military) yelling at each other from above, below, or on the same decks, in or on the drydock, or pier.

The second thing I noticed was the haze of dust in the air and on every surface. It smelled like…shipdust, consisting of rust, paint, steel, dirt, and God knows what else.

The dust mingled with the acrid, burning smoke coming from the welding and torching going on. Not a pleasant smell to be sure. Especially when combined with several portacrappers, turpentine or paint thinner (where was that coming from?), various paint primers, haze gray and deck gray paint, and hordes of dirty, sweaty men. 

I was startled to see several small fires, where the paint got so hot from welding or torching it actually burst into flames. These fires either went out on their own,
usually, or in extreme cases, fire extinguishers were used.

It was all a bit…much. I had a headache and I hadn’t reached the gangplank yet.
My arms were sore from lugging my heavy seabag all over. I must’ve walked 2 miles today, at least, I thought.

The Duluth was a large ship compared to the Henderson. Taller, wider, and longer.
he had at least twice as many men onboard, I had learned from reading the Jane’s fighting Ships book on the Henderson the week before.
Around 400-420 officers and men, and she could transport an additional 900 marines?
Damn! That’s 1,300 men plus.

I stopped and readjusted my seabag. Something was digging into my aching back, and the skin on my shoulders was beginning to rub raw.

I decided to take a break, and light up a smoke. The ship was farther away than it looked I had noticed. I didn’t bother setting my seabag down. Too much dirt, dirty water puddles, stuff floating on the puddles, and seagull crap.
Not to mention I was wearing my summer whites.

Whenever reporting to a new duty station, or ship, one had to wear a dress uniform.
White is a great choice, I thought, sarcastically, looking at the dirty shipyards.
My uniform was already dirty from the all-pervasive dust. In fact, my uniform only resembled white at this point.

The book I read said the Duluth was used for amphibious assaults, using various smaller boats called LCM’s, LCCM’s, AAV’s, LCU’s, LCAC’s, and CH-46 helicopters (up to 6 at a time) to transport Marines ashore.

I wonder what I will be doing? I wondered. At least they can’t send me mess cookin’ again. Maybe more schools? I hoped lot’s of schools were in my future.

I carefully put my cigarette out, and continued my long march towards the Duluth and the massive drydock she was in.

Sweat was pouring down my face when I finally reached the quarterdeck, and my shirt was soaked.

“OSSA Conrad reporting as ordered. Request permission to come aboard”, I croaked with a dust-parched voice, showing my military ID and orders to the OOD. 

“Permission granted. Wait over there,” the Ensign pointed. 

“Aye sir,” I replied.

Petty Officer Luca, call Combat and have them send someone down to get him situated,” the OOD said.

“Aye sir. Welcome aboard!” The BM3 said, engulfing my hand in a crushing grip.

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to grimace. It didn’t seem like BM3 Luca was hurting my hand on purpose. He appeared oblivious of his own strength.
Still, I was relieved when he let go.

“I’ll get someone down heah soon. Might as well take a load off,” Luca said.

I wasn’t an expert, but it sounded like Luca was from New York.

After he made his call I asked, “are you from New York?”

“The Bronx, born ‘n raised,” he said proudly.

“Whaddabout you?” He asked.

“Oregon, mostly,” I said.

“City or country? You look more country,” he said, grinning.

“Mostly country, but I lived in Miami for a few years,” I said, somewhat self conciously. Afterall, I didn’t want to appear as if I were an  ignorant country bumpkin.

“Wait one,” Luca said, putting up his hand and grabbing the ship’s 1mc mic.
“The smokin’ lamp is out on the flight deck until furtha notice. The smokin’ lamp is out on the flight deck until furtha notice. Lootenent Carson, contact the wardroom, Lootenent Carson contact the wardroom,” he said, putting the mic back.

“Caswell, come heah!” Luca shouted.

The messenger hurried over. “What is it Boats?” Caswell asked.

“Get some brasso and shine up the ship’s bell,” Luca said.

“Now? But usually the mid-watch does it,” Caswell complained.

“So? It’s dirty now and it needs shined,” Luca said, with an annoyed look.

“But…” Caswell began.

“Don’t give me no sh*t Caswell!” Luca said, cracking his knuckles loudly.

“Aye Boats!” Caswell said as he snapped to, getting to work, but visibly shaken.

I made a mental note. Don’t mess with Luca.

“Don’t ferget to shine all the brass,” Luca growled.

“Aye Boats!” Caswell said, working feverishly.

“Is thee a problem Petty Officer Luca?” The OOD asked.

“No problem sir,” Luca said.

“Very well. Carry on,” the Ensign said.

“CARRY ON AYE SIR!” Luca barked, making the Ensign jump involuntarily.

The OOD stepped away from Luca, looking back nervously.

“F*ckin’ greenhorn Ensigns,” Luca said in a low voice, rolling his eyes and grinning.

“So you were on the Henderson?” Luca asked.

“Aye. Only for about 3 months though,” I said.

“Why only 3 months?” He asked.

“They’re selling her to Pakistan,” I said, shaking my head.

“Sh*t! F^ckin’ burrocratic muthaf*ckers!” Luca said angrily.
F^ckin’ Pakistan? What kina bullsh*t is that?” He asked, I presumed rhetorically.

Luca looked old enough to be a First Class or Chief. I wondered why he was only a BM3. He had two red stripes on his sleeve, which meant he had been in the Navy at least eight years.

I wasn’t going to ask him though.

Finally, a guy named Larson showd up.

“‘Bout time!” Luca said looking at his watch.

“Gimme a break Boats! I had to climb down from the mast, and the detours around here change almost everyday,” Larson said.

“I’ll let you slide…this time. This is Conrad and he’s reportin’ fer duty. You know the drill,” Luca said, smiling.

“No problem Boats. I got it from here. Why didn’t the OOD sign his orders?” Larson asked.

“He didn’t sign ‘em? MISTER REYNOLDS!” Luca barked, making the Ensign jump again.

“Uh…yes, Petty Officer Luca?” He inquired.

“You fergot to sign Conrad’s orders!” Luca said, bringing the orders to the Ensign.

“Oh. Of course. There. All finished,” the Ensign said, signing the orders.
“Anything else?” He asked.

“You need to give them back to Conrad sir,” Luca panned.

“Yes. Right. Carry on then,” the Ensign said, after he gave me my orders.

“Hey Luca. Do you want to order a pizza tonight?” Larson asked.

“Naw, I’m busted until payday. But we’re havin’ sliders for chow,” Luca said, grinning.

“Okay, sliders it is. See you later pal,” Larson said.

“Later,” Luca said, turning his attention to Caswell. “Put some elbow grease into it!” He ordered.

“Aye Boats!” I heard Caswell say as I followed Larson.

USS Henderson

We sailed back to Long Beach without any problems with the weather.
On the way back I was called as a witness in SN Johnson’s Captain’s Mast.
Captain’s Mast is non-judicial in nature, and the Captain, after hearing the evidence of a case, and recommendations from the XO, Department Head, Division Officer, Chief and LPO (Leading Petty Officer), decides the accused fate.

The accused get’s an opportunity to refute charges, and witnesses may be called in.
It generally doesn’t last long. If someone is charged with a major crime, than NIS (now called NCIS) may investigate, and the Captain will send the accused to a Court Martial, which is much like a civilian trial.

The Captain heard the charges Johnson was accused of, and looked forboding standing behind his podium.

The evidence was solid, and I was called to speak about what Johnson had told me.
After speaking, I was dismissed.

I heard, later, that none of Johnson’s superiors were willing to say a kind word in his support. He was a lousy worker and showed little respect for authority.

I don’t know what Johnson said in his defense, but whatever it was, it didn’t.
In a word Johnson was: screwed.

He received the maximum punishment the Captain could give: 45 days restriction to the ship, reduction in rank from SN to SA, forfeiture of half a months pay for 2 months, 2 hours extra duty for the duration of his restriction, and he had to stand muster 5 times a day for inspection by the Master At Arms (or duty Master At Arms).
He was also to be processed for an ‘other than honorable discharge.’

His friend, PN2 Chindle was busted to PN3, received 30 days retriction, and forfeiture of half a months pay for 2 months.

“Well, that takes care of that. I hated to see Chindle get busted, but he knows better. Johnson has been in trouble before, and since he is a piss poor worker I can see why the Skipper canned his ass,” Chief Cook said.

“True enough. I still can’t believe they are selling the Henderson,” Eltee said.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if we were selling her to a worthy ally, but Pakistan? Damn!”

“Look at the bright side Eltee. They’ll have a helluva time keeping her up and runnin’! Ha ha!” Chief laughed.

Nothing could keep the Chief down for long, I thought.

“Rots of ruck I say!” Exclaimed Eltee.

“I’ll miss you Eltee. It’s been an honor,” said Chief.

“Aw hell, Chief, I won’t be that far from you. It’s no more than what, a 10 minute drive from NTC (Naval Training Center) to MCRD (Marine Corps Recruit Depot),” Eltee said.

“I meant workin’ with ya. Sheesh! Can’t ya take a compliment ya dumb zero?” Chief said, elbowing Eltee in the side.

“Why so cryptic Chief? What’s really on your mind?” Eltee asked, chuckling.

It was a calm, sunny day, as we stared out at the water, reflecting the bright sunlight in such a way that the bay shimmered and sparkled.

“Have you finished Conrad’s evals?” Chief asked. “I gave them to ya 2 weeks ago.”

“I will be going over them with him later today. You didn’t leave me much to add, and you even spelled everything right for a change,” Eltee said, smiling.

“I’m bettin’ you’ll think of somethin’. They must’ve taught you a few sixty four dollar words I don’t know at Annapolis,” Chief said.

“Sure, I suppose. I like it as is though. Besides, I’m neck deep in paperwork,” Eltee said, winking at me.

“What?! You mean to tell me yopu ain’t got time to think up some original words to add to mine for a four-oh sailor?!” Chief asked in a faux rage.

“Ha ha! Of course I do, Chief! It’s been sitting on my desk for two days. I guess I hate the finality of it. As if holding on to it means he can stay longer. Maybe all of us can stay longer. I know it’s wishful thinking, but I’ll miss this old ship, even with you making my life a nightmare,” Eltee said, looking down.

“Hey look! A dolphin!” I said, watching a dolphin show off his swimming skills.

“That’s Clyde! Hey Clyde!” Chief shouted, waving at the dolphin.

Clyde? That’s a weird name for a dolphin, I thought.

“Clyde? You got to be kidding me!” Eltee laughed.

“There’s another one!” I pointed, as a second dolphin leaped into the air.

“Bonnie!” Chief yelled out.

Bonnie? And Clyde?

“Bonnie? You’re making those names up! There’s no way to tell them apart!” Eltee exclaimed.

“Sure there is! Clyde is the one with the little balls!” Chief said, with a straight face.

“I don’t see any balls,” Eltee said, intently looking at the dolphins.

“Me either,” I said, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun.

“Yer both blind as seabats!” Chief said, smiling.

“What are you looking at?”

“There’s two dolphins out there playing,” I said.

“Bonnie and Clyde,” Chief said.

“I still don’t see any balls,” Eltee said.

“Maybe you need some binochulars.”

I turned around to see who the newcomer was.

Oh crap!

“Captain’s on deck!” I said, saluting.

“At ease!” The Captain said immediately as Eltee snapped to.

“Good afternoon Cap’n,” Chief said, glancing back unperturbed.

“Aye, that it is Chief, Lieutenant, Conrad,” Captain said, handing Eltee his binoculars.

“Where do I look sir?” Eltee asked.

“Between the blowhole and the tail, on the underside,” Captain said.

“Which one is Clyde again?” Eltee asked.

“The one on the left. No, in the air. Wait! Now he’s on the right!” Chief said, making a play by play, updated position of Clyde.

Eltee kept moving the binoculars left, up, right, left, trying to catch a glimpse of Clydes balls.

“He’s just too damn fast!” Eltee exclaimed, frustrated.

Chief and the Skipper started laughing out loud. Eltee turned red as he lowered the binoculars.

I laughed too, and Eltee soon joined us. I fell for it too.

After the laughter died down, the Captain took his binoculars back.

“Bonnie and Clyde eh? I can only guess who named them,” Cap’n said, looking at Chief and chuckling.

We all laughed at that.

“Thanks for the laughs gents…Chief,” the Cap’n said, laughing at Chiefs ’shocked’ look.

“I got work to do but, why don’t you 3 take the rest of the day off. You leave tomorrow don’t you Conrad?” The Cap’n asked.

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Well, I’ll miss your coffee. I’ll be gone tomorrow so…good luck and Godspeed!”
He said putting his hand out.

I shook his hand, and then saluted.

“Thank you Captain! It’s been an honor serving under your command!” I said, feeling happy, sad, and proud at the same time.

The Captain saluted back, held it for a few seconds, did an about face and was gone.
The weight of the ship on his shoulders.

He would be relieved of his command after the Pakistani’s were trained.

“Eltee…Ben…let’s go get us a beer. We’ll drink to the Cap’n, the officers and crew of the Henderson, each otherm and the United States Ship Henderson…Destroyer seven hundred and eighty five!” Chief said in his deep, baritone voice.

Aye aye! Chief!

Aye aye!

Posted by USS Ben USN (Ret) at 4:49 AM    

 

4 comments:

juliec said…

Sold to Pakistan – yeesh, even today that just sounds like a terrible fate for a US Navy vessel.

March 5, 2007 10:15 AM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

I concur. South Korea, Columbia, okay, maybe even India, but Pakistan?Fortunately, the Henderson was retired 2 years ago, and sits at the San Diego shipyards, if reports are correct.
Over 60 years of service! Thats phenominal!

March 5, 2007 2:11 PM  

Van said…

Double ugh on the Pakistan sale, glad it made it back to San Diego -Hey, what is it about a Ship that can make us feel Glad or concerned for it, for what is essentially formed metal and/or wood? Odd but true – guess you know that better than I.(also glad to see Johnson finally get his!)

March 5, 2007 10:02 PM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

It seems to me that most US citizens would like to see more Navy ships turned into floating museums.Whenever we had tours there was no shortage of people who wanted to see the ships I was on, even an old ship like the Henderson.

Of course, not all ships can be museums…

Sold Out!

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was both. Or maybe, Johnson just didn’t make sense. Afterall, he rarely did.

“Ha ha. Very funny Johnson. Now, if you’ll ’scuze me, much as I’d like to hear your jokes, I have a date with some z’s,” I said.

“I told you I’m serious! I’m not joking!” Johnson hissed, in barely controlled rage.

“Right, and I should just believe you huh? You know, you really need to work on your delivery,” I said walking away.

“You f#$^ing honky!” Johnson said, grabbing my arm. “Don’t you dis me when I’m talkin’ to you!”

I pulled my arm out of his grasp.

“You better keep your mitts off, before you pull back a stump!” I said.

“What’s the problem here, Johnson?” The OOD asked, walking over.

It was RM1 (Radioman First Class) Thompson. I didn’t know him, but he seemed like a decent guy. I knew a few RM’s and nobody had anything bad to say about him.

“Nothing Petty Officer Thompson. Just makin’ sure Conrad doesn’t fall,” Johnson said.

“You alright Conrad?” RM1 Thompson asked.

“Aye, no problem,” I said.

No use draggin’ this out, I thought.

“Good to hear. Watch your step going down the ladder,” RM1 said.

“Thanks. G’night,” I said, as I turned to leave.

“Good night,” he said. “Seaman Johnson, why don’t you explain something to me.”

“What’s that?” Asked Johnson.

“I think you know what I mean. I’m not deaf,” RM1 said.

“Er, uh…that is…”

I heard Johnsons voice fade away, and found myself smiling.

A few minutes later I was racked out.

Morning came too early.

“Get up Conrad!”

“Okay,” I mumbled. “Hey! Gimme back my blanket!”

“No can do. If you don’t get breakfast ready, Chops will blame me,” said a familiar voice.

I opened my eyes but it was still dark. Then a bright light came on with a click, flooding my eyes and burning my brain..

“Damn! Turn that thing off! I’m blind now,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“Ha ha. You’ll regain your sight soon enough. Now hurry up and get ready, it’s already 0500.”

“0500! I wanted up at 0445!” I said, swinging down to the freezing deck.

“Yeah, I know. I was here waking you up. Good thing I returned to make sure, huh?”

“I don’t remember,” I said, “but thanks.”

“No sweat. You owe me one,” said the messenger.

“Smitty?” I asked, finally identifying the voice.

“Yeah, look, I would love to chat, but I’m kind of on a tight schedule here. You’re not the only drunk I gotta wake up. See ya!” Smitty said, walking away briskly.

“Yeah, thanks again,” I said, getting ready.

My mouth was drier than sun-bleached cotton. I gulped several handfuls of water from the sink in the head. After somewhat sating my thirst, I quickly dry shaved. No time for shaving cream, I thought.

As I went to my locker I felt kind of woozy. Guess I did drink to much.

By 0530 I was in the galley getting coffee made and setting things up.

0600 arrived and I was ready. The wardroom was empty.

0615. Wardroom still empty.

0630. Geez! Where was everyone?

0640. XO shows up.

“Morning Conrad. The usual,” he said.

“Good morning sir! Roger that,” I said.

Within minutes I had the XO’s “usual” ready. “Here you go sir,” I said.

“Thanks. Sprung a leak eh?” He asked, picking up his plate.

“Excuse me sir?” I asked, confused.

“You sprung a leak shaving. Blood on uniform,” the XO said.

“Oh crap!” I said, looking down and seeing blood drops on my t-shirt and shirt. Then I realized what I said. “Sorry sir!”

“Well…seeing as how no one else is here, I guess I can let that slide,” the XO said, laughing. “Rough night?”

“No sir. Rough morning,” I said, relieved.

“I stand corrected,” he said, laughing again.

This was the first time I saw the XO laughing this much. It was odd, to say the least.

A few minutes later, a few more officers arrived and the XO was back to his old self.

“Did you sleep in that uniform Ensign?” The XO asked.

“N-no sir! You see…” the Ensign stammered.

“Yes! I do see!” The XO exclaimed, cutting the Ensign off. “I see an Ensign who isn’t squared away! You didn’t go to Annapolis did you?”

“No sir! I went to…” the Ensign began.

“I don’t care where you went!” The XO said, cutting him off again. “Go get squared away before officer’s call. I better not ever see you disgrace the uniform again, do you understand me mister? You are to set the example for your men!”

“Yes sir! I’m sorry sir!” The Ensign said, turning to leave.

“Yes you are!” The XO said, finishing his meal.

Now that’s the XO we all know and love, I thought.

Later that morning I went to see the Chief cook.

“Hey Chief, you got a minnute?” I asked.

“Sure, what’s on yer mind?”

“Last night, when I returned to the ship, Johnson told me I had orders to leave the Henderson. Have you heard anything?” I asked.

“Nothing like that. Did he say how he knew this?” Chief asked.

“No, I thought he was joking, but he seemed to be serious. Besides, Johnson has never joked around with me,” I said.

“He’s probably just yankin’ your chain, but I’ll check it out, just in case,”
Chief said.

“Thanks Chief,” I said, feeling better.

“Not a problem,” he said. “If there’s anything to it, I’ll know in short order!”

90 minutes later Chief found me in the wardroom galley.

“Hi Chief! What’s the skinny?” I asked.

Chief looked out into the wardroom, which was empty.

“Have you seen Eltee?” Chief asked.

“Not yet,” I said. What was going on?

“Okay, I found some things out, but you can’t repeat anything I say, am I clear?” He asked.

“Roger that Chief,” I said.

“Follow me, I ain’t takin’ chances,” Chief said, mysteriously.

Is this another joke? I wondered. Chief was a top-notch jokester.

I followed Chief to the dry storeroom, which he opened with his key.

“Have a seat,” Chief motioned to a case of corn. He sat on a case of green beans.

“Not a word, ’til I say so, okay?” He asked again.

“My lips are sealed,” I said.

Chief looked around, upset and unsettled. Very strange for him.

“Ben, you do have orders to leave the Henderson, and report to the Duluth, at the Long Beach Naval Shipyards,” Chief said, looking sad.

“But I just got here in May!” I said, surprised.

“Yeah, I know. I know. Thing is, everyone will be leaving the Henderson soon,” Chief said.

“Why? I don’t get it,” I said, looking down.

“Because, they are…” Chief’s voice cracked and I saw tears welling up in his eyes.

“They…are…selling her…to Pakistan,” Chief said, looking away.

I had never seen the Chief this upset. His hands were clenched and he was shaking!

“I can’t…believe it! Sellin’ her! It ain’t right…dammit! She deserves a proper decommissioning!” Chief said, slamming one of his huge fists into his other hand.

“I’m sorry Chief,” I said, feeling bad for him.

“Me too, lad, me too,” he said, shaking his head.

After a long silence, Chief composed himself.

“The crew will probably hear about it with a week or three. Even Johnson doesn’t know, about the Henderson bein’ sold.”

“Then how did he know about my orders?” I asked.

“The little rat knows PN2 Chindle, in Personnel who typed up your orders. I found out about the Henderson from a friend in Radio Central. Some of the crew will remain aboard long enough to train the Pakistani’s. Everyone else will get orders, like you and me. We both got about 6 weeks,” he said, taking a few deep breaths.

“To tell you the truth, I’m glad I won’t be stayin’ on to train the Pakistani’s.
I want to leave the Henderson while she is still a United States Ship!” Chief said, standing up.

“Damn! This sucks, Chief!” I said, also standing up.

“Aye lad, that it does! Tell me, why did Johnson tell you about your orders?” Chief asked.

“I think he was just glad I was leaving. Sort of a neener, neener, neener thing,” I said.

“Johnson sure picked the worst possible day to piss me off! I can’t do a thing about the Henderson, but I can damn sure do something about Johnson! He’s gonna have some ’splainin’ to do to the Cap’n!” Chief roared, bounding out of the room!

I followed the Chief to the mess decks. Soon, he found Johnson, goofing off as usual.

“Johnson!” Chief bellowed, causing everyone on the mess decks to jump!

“Yo Chief, whassup?” Johnson asked, still sitting down.

What an idiot, I thought.

“Get…up! NOW!” Chief shouted, clenching his fists.

Johnson slowly got up, smirking. He glared at me. I thought Chief was going to deck him, but somehow he restrained himself.

“You little punk! STAND AT ATTENTION!” Shouted Chief so loud I could feel the force of his fury!

Johnson immediately snapped to attention! I guess he finally gets it, I thought.

Chief slowly circled his prey, who looked more and more scared by the second.

“Ch-Chief, I-I…” Johnson stammered.

“Shut yer filthy piehole! This is a one-way conversation!” Chief ordered.

“I’m writin’ you up for lookin’ at personal information and disclosin’ it! One count each, plus a count for every person you bragged to! You will be seeing the Cap’n soon, but first you will see the Supply Officer, and XO! In the meantime, you will work within my sight at all times!
Is that clear?!” Chief yelled out.

“B-b-but Chief, PN2…” Johnson stuttered.

“IS THAT CLEAR?!!” Chief shouted in Johnson’s face, less than an inch away!

Johnson looked terrified. “Y-yes, Chief,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry, Johnson. Yer pal Chindle will be joining you,” Chief said.
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to know how fast you gave him up. Not so funny now is it?
Conrad, c’mere,” Chief motioned.

“Aye Chief!” I said walking closer to him.

“Do you have somethin’ you want to tell Johnson?” Chief asked.

“No Chief, not that I can think of,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Chief asked, winking at me.

Ohhh. I get it.

I leaned close to Johnson’s ear so no one else could hear, and whispered, “Neener, neener, neener, assh#le!”

Chief busted out laughing! “Thanks Conrad. I’ll see ya later. Me and this twerp got work to do.”

As I left the mess decks I could hear the Chief berating Johnson.

“To the galley! Yer gonna scrub the deck! By hand! Then yer gonna clean the drainpipe screens! By hand! You and me are gonna be pals Johnson! You’ll piss when I piss! You’ll sh…”

Johnson was in for the longest day of his life! I almost felt a little bit bad for him. Almost.

Posted by USS Ben USN (Ret) at 3:35 AM    

 

6 comments:

juliec said…

Another great installment. “neener, neener” – priceless! I wish I ould have seen the look on that guy’s face : D

February 28, 2007 2:21 PM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

Thanks Juliec! It was one of those priceless moments, ha! Ha!It was not a good idea to get on the Chief’s bad side, which, ironically, was very hard to do.Chief would’ve been an excellent Company Commander (Drill Instructor).Fun, yet serious. :^)

February 28, 2007 4:09 PM  

walt said…

Ha-ha, feelin’ neglected over here, Matey? Yes, long winters up here in the Northwest!

March 2, 2007 11:19 AM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

Walt-
Heh! Not so much neglected, just a wee bit narcissistic.
I blame Skully for padding the number of blog hits.
Imagine my surprise when there really wasn’t thousands of readers out there.
But…I have the very best readers out there!
And yes, it has been a long winter, but I can’t complain. We only lost power once for a day and a half.
I had no idea you were from this neck of the woods.
Where about do you hail from?

March 3, 2007 12:11 AM  

walt said…

We’re sitting on top of a hill about 12 miles from Coos Bay. Hey: we’ve had AT LEAST 5-6 “clear” days since early November — typical winter, right? I hear it’s nice and sunny in California, but judging from your posts, I don’t think you’d like it there, and neither did I.

March 3, 2007 4:01 AM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

You got that right, Walt!
I’ll take that ‘liquid’ sunshine any day! LOL!Coos Bay is a nice town, if memory serves.

March 3, 2007 4:47 AM

Stop The Commies!

February 21st 2007

This sea story is true and that ain’t no BS.

I handed the silver flask back to the elder Gunny and he took another drink, took a deep breath, and began to tell of his experiences during world war two.

“I joined the Navy in 1937, when I turned 18. My father wasn’t happy, since we had a small farm to work, but farming wasn’t in my blood. I had 3 younger brothers, and 2 sisters, but I guess Pa expected his oldest to stay, and someday take over.
My mother died when my youngest sister was born, and my other sister had polio, so it was hard for Pop…hard for all of us,” he said, looking down.

“We lived in Illinois, and none of us had seen the ocean or another state for that matter, except for my Uncle Jeremiah. He was a Marine during world war one, and he would tell me about the places he had seen, the people he met, and a bit about the war, whenever Pa wasn’t around.”

He looked upset, still looking down, but he continued.

“You see, Pa loved us dearly, and he wanted the best for us, but after Ma died, he couldn’t let us go, and he was agin’ world war one. So Pa forbade Uncle Jeremiah from talkin’ about the war to us kids. But I was determined to know all I could, and my Uncle gave in to my pleas, whenever we were alone. I dreamed of being a Marine or Sailor on the high seas, visiting other countries, and protecting ours from evil men. When Uncle Jeremiah showed me his medals one day and told me what they were for, I decided I would follow in his footsteps.”

He took another drink and handed me the flask.

“When I turned 18, I told Pa that I intended to volunteer to serve, like Uncle Jeremiah had done.”

“But son, I want to give you this farm someday,” Pa said.

“Pa, I said, I’m tired of barely survivin’, and I want to see the world, and serve our country.”

“Yes son, I understand that. We had some tough winters, and some bad years, but it will get better and maybe in a few years we can hire some help, then you can travel some,” Pa said.

“Pa I can’t do this no more. I made up my mind, I said, determined not to back down or listen to any offers.”

“Pa stood their silent for awhile and started to shake. He covered his face, but I saw the tears streaming through his hands. I never saw Pa cry except when Ma died, but that was only a few tears, nothing like this.”

“Son,” he finally said, when he calmed down, “if this is what you want, you have my blessing.”

“Pa looked like a broken man. I cried too, and hugged him. I didn’t expect this.
I offered to come home after my enlistment was up, to help out, but he said not to worry about it. All he wanted was for me to write home and he offered to pay the postage costs. I didn’t know it then, but the day he took me to the train station was the last time I would see him alive,” Grandpa Gunny said, solemnly.

“I dropped out of school after the sixth grade, when Ma died. Someone had to take care of the little ones, and although we had a lot of help from neighbors, it wasn’t enough. Some people today would call that child abuse, but that’s hogwash!” Grandpa said.
“Oh sure, I didn’t always enjoy workin’ so much and I hated farming and milking the cow, but I was happy to help raise my brothers and sisters, and help Pa out. My brother John was 17 when I left, and he was ready to take over, but I never regretted quitting school to take care of my family, no siree.”

“I was able to send money home after I joined, and I was glad to do that too, because I know how much that helped, especially with my sister Mary’s doctor bills. Yeah, I thought I had it all figured out, but I wouldn’t have joined if I knew Pa was going to have a heart attack after Pearl Harbor was bommbed,” Grandpa said.

“I got to say, I had more than one reason to hate the Japs because besides the fact they attacked my country, they attacked my family, my shipmates, my ship!” Grandpa said, looking me straight in the eyes.

“Now I wasn’t a racist, mind you. When we had American Japanese aboard to translate what Japanese prisoners said , I got along fine with them. They understood why we called the Japanese Japs, Nips, Slanteyes, and such. And I was against interning the American Japanese indiscriminately the way FDR did. But make no mistake, I hated the Japanese that attacked us with all that I was and I wasn’t alone with those feelings. How can anyone not hate evil?” Grandpa asked.

“Today we got commie-loving protesters that love our enemies and hate their military! And they say what we did during world war two was cruel and inhumane.
Well, they weren’t there. They didn’t see how the Japanese treated their prisoners and civilians. Hell! They didn’t see how the Japanese treated their own people. I guess they don’t teach history in the schools no more,” he said, shaking his head.

“We had a few boneheads back in those days, but they didn’t hate our military, or our country. They were just stupid, or pascifists, which is the same thing, far as I’m concerned. I don’t think a protester spittin’ on a soldier or sailor would’ve survived the experience back then. They sure would of been hurtin’ bad if they did that’s for sure!” Grandpa said, chuckling.

I laughed along with him, picturing how spitters would fare in those days.
Why aren’t these people publically shunned nowadays? I wondered.

“The Helena survived the treachery at Pearl Harbor, and several battles after that.
We were a scourge to Jap aircraft and ships. Our gun crews were the best! When we provided gunfire support the Japs knew it. So it wasn’t a surprise that the Japs wanted to destroy us,” the old Gunny said, looking down again.

“On July 5th, 1943, we were hit by a torpedo. Many of my shipmates were blown overboard. Within minutes two more torpedos struck the ship, breaking us into three parts. The aft and midship sections sank almost immediately. The forward section sank part-way, with the bow staying afloat, upside down. Dozens of us swam to the bow, holding on to stay afloat. The Japs still fired at us, even though we were no longer a threat.
My shipmates were all shot up and dying, drowning all around me,” Grandpa Gunny whispered the last sentence, his voice cracking.

Grandpa covered his eyes with a rough and callused hand, and trembled.

“Oh God, that still hurts so much,” said Grandpa.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, putting a hand on Grandpas shoulder and feeling my own tears fighting to get free.

“Thank you lad, I’ll be alright,” he said, drying his eyes with his sleeves, and taking deep breaths.

He took another swallow of whiskey, composed himself, and cleared his throat before continuing.

“Please forgive me Ben. I didn’t expect this,” Grandpa said, looking embarrassed.

“No need to apologize Mr. McDonald. Do you want to stop?” I asked, concerned about him.

“No. No, I need to do this, if you don’t mind,” Grandpa said, “and call me Bill, please.”

“Not at all…Bill,” I said.

“A Navy Liberator dropped four rubber liferafts, thank God for those flyboys. We all filled the rafts, some of us having to hold on from the water. We tried to kick towards land, the island of Kolombangara, but the wind and currents pulled us away from land, and it was too far to swim individually, even if we could make headway against that strong current. Well, 165 of us ended up on a Japanese controlled island called Vella Lavella.
The rest of the men were picked up by some Destroyers I later found out, or landed at Kolombangara, which we held. The problem was help couldn’t follow us until they had enough reinforcements,” he said, looking at his hands, “and they had to keep fighting the Japanese in any event.
It was a scary, lonely, despairing feeling, seeing that island get further away, until it finally disappeared.
Nobody spotted us the next day, Jap or American. We lost some of our injured along the way. We tried to treat the wounded as best we could, but we weren’t doctors and we couldn’t save 15 of the men,” he said, with a profound sadness in his eyes.

“When we saw Vella Lavella we made for shore, thinking this was our last chance to make landfall. This island was still occupied by the Japanese, and I doubted we would be welcome, or alive, if they caught us.
More than death, I feared the torture and cruelty the Japs were known for.
Thankfully, the Japs didn’t catch us landing. The natives helped us hide in the jungle, and they had a radio! Our hope was raised that we might be rescued. The natives called for help, but when would it arrive? Could we hold out, and avoid all the Japanese patrols?”

“We hid for 10 days, until help arrived in the form of 4 Destroyers and 2 Transports.
All 165 of us made it safely off the island! The USS Helena was the very first ship to receive a Navy unit citation award,” Grandpa said, looking up at me.

“A well-deserved citation,” I said.

“Aye, she was a good ship and the best crew…now it’s your turn,” Grandpa said.

What does he mean? I wondered if I should ask.

“You and your shipmates have to stop the commie Soviets and Chinese. Communism is a great evil, and worse than the Nazis in many ways. You can’t allow it to spread. I’m confident that you will make my generation proud,” Grandpa said, handing me the flask.

“I’ll do my best, Bill,” I said, taking a drink and handing it back.

“I have no doubt about that,” Grandpa said, looking around.

“It’s getting late. I’ll have to go soon, Ben. I want to thank you,” said Grandpa.

“Thank YOU, Bill! It’s an honor for me,” I said, shaking his hand.

Later that night, as I staggered aboard the Henderson, I noticed that Johnson was standing watch as the messenger.

That’s good news, I thought. He has to watch what he says or does with the OOD nearby.

“Heyyy, Conrad, guess what? Good news! You’re leaving!”

What is he talking about? I’m arriving.

“Right…okay man. Thanks!” I said, walking by.

“No, seriously! You have orders to leave the Henderson and report to the Duluth. Too bad, huh?” Johnson said, smiling.

Posted by USS Ben USN (Ret) at 1:29 AM    

 

6 comments:

Jimmy J. said…

Ben,
Grandpa Bill was one of the “Greatest Generation.” A good man, an honest man, and a man who knew what had to be done. They did it and they deserve our deepest admiration.He passed the torch to you, my friend. And you are carrying the torch high.

It’s a pain being an old fart and not able to be with the troops. But we’re there in spirit and in our true support.

Little do the Congress Critters that undermine our troops know what they are doing. We get the government we deserve and our fellow citizens have placed a bunch of people in the majority that have no, repeat NO, understanding of the threat.

Thanks for all you do and keep the sea stories coming.

February 22, 2007 8:31 PM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

“It’s a pain being an old fart and not able to be with the troops. But we’re there in spirit and in our true support.”Amen to that, Jim.
Thank you for keeping those torches burning and for passing several of them on yourself.

February 22, 2007 10:38 PM  

sarah said…

This is great reading, Ben!And regarding your comment over at One Cosmos about responding to the occasional hysteria of women…. You are a wise man, my friend. A wise man indeed!

February 23, 2007 8:11 AM  

juliec said…

Thanks, Ben – this one brought tears to my eyes. I can’t imagine living through what he did. The only way to honor those sacrifices is to keep carrying that torch; thank God at least half this country still believes it’s worth fighting for.

February 23, 2007 8:38 AM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

Sarah-
Thanks, but it did take awhile for me to become a wise guy, irt marriage that is.
It wasn’t until I began an earnest inline search of the innerverse (as Bob would say, and has), that I started wising up a bit.

February 24, 2007 12:01 AM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

Juliec-
You are so right, and I appreciate folks like you, who really do support our men and women in uniform!

February 24, 2007 12:07 AM  

Beauty, Art And The Tapestry

This sea story is BS free, and has a lot of fiber to boot.

1745. Time to go to the beer garden and look up ‘Grandpa’.
I wonder what it was like being on the USS Helena (CL-50) during World War 2. Her main duty was to protect the aircraft carriers from enemy aircraft, ships and submarines, which also made her a target.

I guess I’ll take Joe’s advice, and avoid Terry. Why the hostility? Why is he still glaring at me? He has some serious anger issues.

It feels strange, going on liberty in my dress whites. But what the hey? If it means free beer I can accept the inconvenience.

Speaking of inconvenience, here comes an officer. Hand salute…what? He doesn’t see me? Okay, finally you deigned to return my salute. Thank you very much Cheng (Chief Engineer) sir.

Hmmm. Looks like it might rain tonight. Hopefully it will be a light rain, since this beer garden thing is happening outside.

Almost there. That’s a good idea. They put up a white tarp, in case of rain. Can I remove my cover under a tarp? I suppose that counts as inside.

Where is Grandpa Gunner? It’s 1803.

Music filled the air, but it wasn’t so loud that people couldn’t converse. It was a mixture of country, golden oldies, rock and some southern rock.

Some long tables bore a variety of foods, buffet style. My stomach growled so loud I thought for sure that others would hear it. There were a few guys grilling steaks, burgers and dogs on downwind of the beer garden area.

Man that smells good! Time to eat!

I picked up a paper plate and selected some fried chicken, potato salad, enchiladas with guacamole and hot sauce, and a nice looking, freshly grilled t-bone steak.

I sat my heaping plate of vittles down at one of the picnic tables, then I went for a beer. Nobody asked for my ID. In fact, nobody in uniform was carded. I wasn’t about to argue about it.

I sat down and proceeded to chow down. 20 delicious minutes and another plate later, I was stuffed.

These folks of Seaside went all out for the Navy, I thought. It was a sharp contrast to the indifferent or even hostile people in the big cities I had seen thus far.
Greenpeace wasn’t invited to this party.

After grabbing another beer I looked around for Grandpa Gunny again. As I walked, I noticed more people were dancing.

Is that Joe? Yeah it is.
I waved to Joe but he was too preoccupied with dancing to notice. By dancing I don’t mean real dancing. It was more like the funky chicken variety, but who was I to judge? I couldn’t dance either.

There is Terry and Beth dancing. I hope he doesn’t make a scene. Damn! He saw me.
That glaring thing is getting old.

I ignored Terry and kept on walking. With any luck, I wouldn’t see him again tonight.

There he is!

Grandpa Gunny was sitting at a small table, looking out to sea and puffing on a cigar. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he was unaware of my presence.

“Mr. McDonald. It’s good to see you again,” I said.

“Ben! I’m glad you came!” He said, shaking my hand.

“Have a seat, the view is breathtaking, isn’t it?” Grandpa asked.

“It sure is!” I said, watching the sun move ever closer to the sea, peering through the broken clouds which were slowly conquering the evening sky.

“Now this,” he said making a sweeping gesture at the beautiful view, “is art from on high. An ever-changing portrait of wonder that reflects life itself on the canvas we call nature. But it’s not nature, it’s supernature, for nothing can accidently or randomly create beauty such as this, as many scientists would have us think.
Only the Creator Himself has that capability which is part of His purpose, and thus ours as well.”

I didn’t fully understand what the wise Gunny was saying, but his words rang true, and I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, refute his words. I simply nodded, unable to add to Gunny’s wonderful missive.

A few minutes of silence followed, as we watched the exquisite supernatural tapestry unfold, revealing mysteries and bringing other mysteries to light.

“My Grandpa said that it is the unseen that is eternal,” I ventured, not really knowing why I said it, but it seemed appropriate somehow.

“Your Grandpa is a wise man,” Grandpa Gunny said. “There is so much more to see than what our eyes are limited to. The material world is finite, but the unseen is indeed eternal. That is where we see and hear God. In here,” he said, tapping his heart.
“Within our very soul,” he added.

I was experiencing a sense of wonder on a deeper level than I ever did before. It seemed like I was more aware than I ever was as I absorbed the masterpiece before me.

More silence followed, but it wasn’t awkward. No, this silence was comfortable, and…so right.

“Well,,,now is a good time to tell you about the Helena and her crew.” Grandpa said, looking far away, at a different time and a different place.

I sat there at attention! Eagerly awaiting Grandpa Gunny’s story.

“But first, let us partake of a bit of good whiskey,” Grandpa said, pulling out a silver flask.

He opened the cap and took a long draw, then handed the flask to me.
The flask was engraved with these words: To the valiant men of the
USS Helena (CL-50).

Posted by USS Ben USN (Ret) at 5:04 AM    

 

6 comments:

Lisa said…

Well done, Ben. I felt like I was sitting there besides you two at sunset. Nice!

February 16, 2007 4:05 PM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

Thanks Lisa.
I am hoping to bring everyone who reads into the story, so you can be there as it unfolds.

February 17, 2007 3:52 AM  

Lisa said…

I already am!;)

where is that updated pic you mentioned earlier?

February 17, 2007 5:45 PM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

It’s below this post…oh! You mean the external human pic?
I’m trying to find a current pic that meets my rigorous standards, without resorting to photoshop, but I may have to settle for a less-than-almost-perfect (or halfway decent) one. :^)

Why does Dreamworks have to be so expensive?

February 18, 2007 12:35 AM  

Jimmy J. said…

Grandpa Gunny, a wise man indeed. I’ve met a few like him in my days, and the knowledge gained has stuck with me through the years. looking forward to grandpa’s story.

February 18, 2007 11:01 AM  

USS Ben USN (Ret) said…

Hi Jim! It’s good to have you back!
Thank God for wise mentors.

The wise men (and women) I have met were closer than blood relatives to me.
The wisdom and serenity they passed on to me was special in my formation and spiritual growth, and were beacons of light in some of the darkest times of my life.

Above all, their good character stood out as outstanding examples to emulate, and inspired me to follow in their footsteps.

February 18, 2007 4:31 PM

No Hard Feelings?

Monday, February 12, 2007

“Here thar be another sea-story for the ages, told by a most unlikely storyteller,
especially in his own eyes, the Petty Officer of puns…the Chief of comedy…the Seaman of stand-up…the Captain of corn…the one and only…{drumroll, trumpets and bos’n’s whistle playing}…Cap’n Ben!!!”

{Loud cheering}.

“No BSing here my mateys, this sea-story is…”

Thank you for that, uhm, bold and errr, fascinating…introduction, Skully.

“But I wasn’t finis…”

You are now, Skully. Now pay the uhh…band.

“Why? They volunteered to play after they saw my sword.”

You can’t just threaten people to get them to do what you want!

“Why not?”

Why not? It isn’t civilized that’s why not!

“And why isn’t it civilized? I didn’t hurt them or nothin’.”

Because it’s…look, just forget it and send them on their way. I’m way past my deadline and I don’t have time to explain…again, about good manners.

“Aye aye Cap’n! Don’t worry, I’ll get them back in one piece! Absolutely no permanent damage.”

Good! I don’t want anymore lawsuits.

“Got that covered Cap’n! This time I remembered to blindfold them!”

You what?! Later Skully, we need to talk! Make sure you don’t hurt the band.

“I won’t! Why won’t you believe me?!”

There was the UPS guy…

“That was an accident. I thought he had a bomb!”

It was a package. A new chair to be exact. That’s what UPS does, they deliver packages.

“But it could’ve been a bomb! ‘Sides, I warned ‘im to stop!”

I’m sure he thought you were joking, all dressed up as a pirate like you were.

“He won’t be makin’ that mistake again now will he?! Ha ha harrr!”

Yeah, once he gets out of the hospital, I’m sure he won’t ever stop by here again.

“I hardly broke the skin, Cap’n, and no major veins were cut! Whatta big baby!”

Eleven stitches is a bit more than hardly breaking the skin!

“You’re bein’ a wee bit on the subjecotive side aren’t you Cap’n? I’d say it only needed one or two tops!”

Subjective, Skully.

“See? You admit it!”

I didn’t…I mean what I was trying to say is…we’ll talk later! Now, please…get the band out of here…before the sun rises!

“Aye aye, Cap’n Ben! Git movin’ you scurvy dogs! And don’t make a sound if you value your skin! Arrrhhh!”

Sigh…

As I entered the crew’s mess decks I grabbed a cup of java. Based on the thickness, I decided to add a bit of hot water to it.
Drinking very strong coffee on an empty stomach was not a good idea, I had learned the hard way.
Not without a bunch of rolaids at any rate.

I was in no hurry to return to the tour.
Hmmm. I’ve had worse, I thought, as I sipped the coffee.

After I finished the coffee off, I glanced at my watch.
1625. Guess I better find Sarah and Beth and let them know where Grandpa was.

I checked Combat and they weren’t there. I ran into them on the way to the guns.

“Yo Ben!” Waved Joe.

“Where is Grandpa?” Asked Sarah.

“He decided to go home and take a nap. I waited until he got in the cab,” I said.

“It’s about time for us to head on back too,” said Sarah and Beth’s Uncle.

I couldn’t recall his name.

“Awww, do we have to Uncle Wayne?” Pleaded Beth.

“We do if you want to have time to get ready for the dance, young lady,” said Aunt Louise.

“We better hurry!” Said Sarah looking at her watch. “Will we see you there?” She asked, as I signed them out of the visitors log book.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Joe, giving a slight bow and flourish.

“You betcha!” Exclaimed Weekley, looking at Beth.

Don’t ask, I hought, hoping to avoid the question.

“How about you?” Asked Uncle Wayne.

Gee thanks, Uncle Nosey!

“Yes sir. I want to hear more of Grandpa’s sea stories,” I said.

“I don’t know how you got him to open up. but thank you young man,” said Aunt Louise,
followed by a round of thanks by the girls and their brothers.

“It was an honor,” I said.

I don’t know why he opened up either. I had no idea he kept it to himself for so long.

“Thanks for the private tour. It was fun!” Sarah said.

“Yes, thank you,” giggled Beth staring at Weekley.

More rounds of thank you’s.

With that, they finally left, waving, often.

“I’m gonna get ready,” said Joe, heading for the berthing compartment.

“Hey! Wait up!” Said Terry, glancing back at me. “No hard feelings?” He asked, putting his hand out.

“Huh?” I asked.

“Because I stole your girlfriend. But not intentionally!” Terry said, looking nervous.

“Are you serious” I asked, trying not to laugh.

“I can’t help it if chicks dig me,” he said, apparently serious.

That was it. I couldn’t stop the flood of laughter once I saw that Larry was indeed serious. Seriously full of himself.

“What? Why are you laughing?” Asked Larry, looking unsettled, which made me laugh more.

I tried to talk, but the absurdity of the moment, not to mention the puzzled look on Larry’s face, was too much to resist.

“Look man, I’m not joking, I’m serious here,” said Terry, obviously not getting the humor.

“I…I know,” I said, before another bout of laughing doubled me over.

Larry turned red, and just like that became angry.

“You’re laughing at me?” He asked, the light beginning to go on.

“To put it mildly,” I said, winding down a little.

“F#^k you Conrad!” Terry said, walking off.

“H-hey Terry…no hard f-feelings?” I said, before cracking up again.

When I entered the compartment, Joe approached me.

“Why is Terry so pissed, Ben?” Joe asked, concerned.

“Did you ask him?” I asked, chuckling.

“Yeah, but he just mentioned you laughing at him,” Joe said. “So what gives? What is so funny?” He asked, smiling.

“He basically apologized for stealing my “girlfriend”,” I said, laughing, “and then…and then he said, ha ha, “I can’t help it if chicks dig me.” And he was, ha ha, serious!”

Ow! My stomach hurts! I thought, holding my stomach.

Joe smiled, but didn’t laugh.

“I guess you had to be there,” I said.

“Don’t take this wrong, Ben, but Terry is a mean drunk sometimes. Maybe you should keep your distance tonight. He will forget everything tomorrow, probably,” Joe said looking around furtively.

I couldn’t help it. Joe looked ridiculous, and although I could tell he was speaking from experience, I laughed again, but not as loud.

No use starting a fight if I can avoid it.

“Ookayy…maybe I’ll see you later?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll buy you a beer,” I said, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.

“Thanks Ben! Wait! Aren’t they free?” He asked.

Posted by USS Ben USN (Ret) at 11:17 AM

Improv! Or, Playing By Ear

Some of you Cosmic Raccoons(TM) and visitors out there seem to be under the impression that I have been writing for a long while, or, as one dear reader put it: “You must have studied English.”

Well, I have written a lot, on ship logs, evals, security reports, and police reports, report reports, etc..
But I had no storytelling experience whatsoever…until recently that is.

In fact, I never graduated from high school, although I did get a GED before I joined the US Navy (thanks Chief Recruiter for convincing me to do that. It wasn’t required at the time).
However, I did study English in high school.

Believe me, if I could tell stories at least fairly well when I was a young kit, I would’ve known.
My writing, up until 27 November 2006, was rather boring, and I couldn’t tell any interesting stories. Even true ones fell flat.

So…what happened on that day of duestiny? After reading Bob’s (aka DL, Dear Leader, Most Obnoxious Man In America, Cult Guru, Sage, Priest, Doctor, The Artist Formerly Known As Doctor Evil, etc.) posts over at One Cosmos for over a year, and his comments at Shrinkwrapped before that, something ‘clicked’ (maybe there was a whirrr in the process also) when Bob was rappin’ about O–(k) stuff.

I knew what Bob was talking about, but I wasn’t really grokkin’, if you get my drift.
I wasn’t experiencing the nous bong. But eventually, when I wasn’t expecting it,
my good friend God (maybe you heard of Him?), unlocked a special song; a hidden batch of stories, primarily sea-stories that have been locked up all my life.

Ever since that special day that Eternity enveloped me, I do live storytelling, much like Bob does live blogging.
No script, and no pre-conceived plot. No tricks! Nothing up my sleeves! Look! What’s that over there?!
I write what comes to me, and often I’m surprised!

Some thoughts of mine while writing, and after I write:
I forgot that episode!
Oh yeah! I remember him!
Where did that come from?!
What was I thinkin’?!
Was I really that stupid?

In other words, I’m engrossed by these stories, eagerly awaiting the next thrilling, chilling, sad, action-packed, happy, funny, enlightening, etc., episode!

This is the song I always wanted to play but I couldn’t quite make out the notes.
They were just beyond my belief, at the peripheral of my vertical vision, hidden in Eternity and discovered by Grace.

I do edit afterword, to make it a bit neater, but this is improv., and that ain’t no BS!

I play (write) by ear, and I like the music I hear.
It’s somehow familiar and uniquely original and timeless at the same time(lessness).
It comes flowing down, while I fall up into it, through the same ears, eyes and hands as our Creator!

Thanks Bob, and thanks to my friends and fellow Raccoons…all brothers and sista’s under the pelt!

A special sailorcoon salute to y’all!
Now, who’s buyin’ the first round of coonjuice?

Posted by USS Ben USN (Ret) at 4:58 AM

Fodder Bob Culter And His Merry Band Of Cosmical Raccoons!

Eh? A cult you say?
Why yes indeedyO. A cult of personalities on a journey through the cosmic casteland.

“I don’t get it.”

Skully…think of it this way. We’re like pirates in a sense, looking for mysterious treasures in the uncharted eternal realm, in 4-D boboramic sirround sound.

“Treasure I understand!”

Unlimited treasure, Skully.

“Arrhhh…never endin’ wine, women and song! Count me in Cap’n!”

Err…close enough (this is a major breakthrough for Skully).

Click the title and see for yourself.

Posted by USS Ben USN (Ret)