tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7532334342588846982024-02-21T04:16:40.107-08:00Dead Fishermen and Sea talesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-71102064966796082482016-03-09T11:26:00.002-08:002016-03-09T11:26:12.736-08:00Hit the Road Chapter 17<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 14.784px;"> I'm out of the Navy, ”wow,” now what? Life is moving forward. I'm looking down this road. The day had finally arrived, I got on a plane to Ohio, to see a friend of mine. Larry invited me to Cincinnati. The end of October, the year 1969, he had been on the sub with me, Polish and proud. Larry had said, the center of everything was here. Looking around, that wasn't exactly true. What the hell, was I thinking, the wind never stop blowing my whole four days there. Larry was home and that was enough for him. I check-in with the draft board. It seemed I had to register even though, I was out of the service. They told me my number wasn't coming up, they assured me of that. This had happened because I had joined so young, now the paperwork was done. I was free. Larry and I had a great visit but it was way to cold here in his town. The next stop was upstate New York to see Darlene. Well it started to snow the very first day. I had just thawed out from Cincinnati. I loved her but didn't picture me in this world. I told her, I'd see her when “The Summer Wind Blows,” a popular song at the time. That was a hard breakup for this kid. I moved south. I caught a ride with a trucker to Florida. The hitchhiking down convinced me that a truck diver wasn't in the cards. We came down the interstate through South Carolina that was interesting. The Ku Klux Klan had a billboard announcing they lived here, burning cross the whole nine yards. This State still had the Confederate flag flying. Modern times almost 1970, who knew? I hadn't told my family, that I was even was out of the service yet. Weighing my options, the big plan was Miami, warm sands, nightlife and a job, hopefully no cross dressers in my path. The week in a cheap motel changed my thinking, this was not a reality. No entry level jobs were available to me, the Cubans seemed to have that all cornered. The girls were still beautiful. I thought traveling to Pensacola would be more advantageous had family there. They had white sand beaches and some pretty girls too. I took the bus north, trying grits and eggs for the first time. Dad's family lived here. me working on an oil rig sounded good with my background in piping systems. The Gulf of Mexico was full of these oil rigs. I stayed with my Aunt Opal and Uncle Walter, they were glad to see me, ya'll. The summer visits of my youth was playing in my head. The first time on water skiing was in the Gulf. They were both retired and my grandmother was visiting at the time. the pecans and sweet ice tea. I had to rethink this place also. My conversation ended with me promising to accompany grandma home to Stockton.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-57994957625015992772016-03-09T10:54:00.000-08:002016-03-09T10:54:24.341-08:00Fast Times Chapter 16<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 14.784px;"> </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 14.784px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 14.784px;"> Transition... </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 14.784px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 14.784px;">The Skipjack and I had finished the last long run patrol. This was a good thing. The countdown to civilian life had started. We were still going out on short trips but my last real patrol was history. That said, my old sports car cruising the country side was also done. This was my last summer in the navy... I had sold the car for a thousand dollars. trying to sell a rag top in the colder months was not easy. I was also afraid to drive the Triumph all the way across country. She being a tad touchy on the open road. The fellow who bought my pride and joy, said he'd take the TR-3 back to Arkansas... The party scene was still alive and well. My shipmate Vic and I hit the road in his Oldsmobile Cutlass coupe. We were out to burn the tires off her. This car with four hundred forty cubic inch, V-8 engine could really scream. Vic had picked up four six packs of a stout malt liquor and a gallon of warm table wine. The Mad hatter as he was known, had a gift of gab and a heavy foot. We decided to hit all the bars in Virginia Beach. We were at a traffic light stopped on a four lane highway when the Corvette pulled up. He revved his engine and the race was on. The third gear rubber was smoldering and the blue smoke was thick. Vic had him by a car length. The two road warriors were at the next stop light. We were side by side, the cars ready to burn up the lanes. Then a cop pulls into the intersection across from us. The Corvette shuts down but not the Mad hatter. The light turns green and the rocket sled fires. We were swerving side ways and were smoking into second gear. The car shot down the straightaway on fire. Vic pulls over in the gravel shoulder half mile up the road. He says, let me handle this. The cop rolls up behind us, lights flashing. It was just about sundown. The trooper walks over to the car. He bends over us in the window. The cop says, didn't you guys see me sitting there? Calm as ice.... Vic says, "yeah" quite a show huh? You got my attention... the trooper smiled. Vic goes into his act, how we just returned from Nam.' We had to let off some over due steam. What are you boys drinking? Oh! we just had a few beers, the night is young. The cop looks over at me shaking his head, you sober? Oh... yes sir. The trooper says then you'd better drive. I don't want to see either of you this way again tonight. Got me? You got it officer, I said, as we changed places. The trooper gets back in his patrol car. I slip off the clutch and sent flying rocks and gravel onto his hood and windshield. Hey Mad hatter stick that eight track in, lets get this party started. That Georgia boy could sure sling the crap. I was in bad company for sure. My shipmate, Vic had a scar across his forehead when he was dared to ski down this slope in Utah. He'd never had ski's on before, went straight down the hill until a post or something, stopped him. They don't get much snow in Valdosta, Georgia. Utah is were they trained the submarine nuclear engineers. He survived the school. Vic had a need for speed. Hey Benito! pull over I'm driving. The Peppermint Lounge was hopping and we were a little drunk. The Beach Boys were playing to the crowd. These short haired sailors weren't doing so good with the ladies. The moves on the dance floor had changed. They danced different than a few months prior. Just about the time I'd get the new moves nailed. We'd be back at sea, the dances all changing again. It was fun, the two of us hit three more places and our beer was gone. Vic says open the wine, " a big mistake." The hot wheels and us start back to Norfolk, its three o'clock in the morning. Take the back roads Vic, don't need that trooper in the mirror. The radio was playing this new song, Bad Moon Rising, by Creedence Clear Water. The moon was full. Mad hatter hit this train crossing at over one hundred miles an hour. These old country road type of tracks</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 14.784px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 14.784px;"> on a levy hill. This was a major bump. The car was airborne and flew a long distance. We bounced the coupe's frame on the pavement, twice. The box of eight tracks in the backseat and I changed places. Me now in the back with the empty beer cans. Vic stops and checks the gauges. He looks out the window, seeing no pieces of car anywhere. Hey! this Old's Cutlass is awesome. Vic and I stop at a cafe for coffee. The two drunk sailors return to the car in the parking lot. Once inside, the two of us slam the doors at the same time. They bounced back open. Laughing real hard, we both realize the car frame is bent just like us. Damn it, Slam it! from that moment on you had to lift the doors to shut them. The Mad hatter had helped me get my qualifications in the engineering spaces. We'd been friends over a year. The reactor, steam turbines and shaft alley, I knew by heart. We had a five bladed propeller in those days. It was meant for speed too. The hub was like four foot thick and the blades tip to tip were huge. All brass just like us. Life was good. At that time, reenlistment was being sold to me by the Navy. Nixon was also giving all the servicemen an early out. I was supposed to get out on my birthday, January 26, 1970. The president cut that to October 69'. That said, it was these hot August nights that interested me at the moment. I was offered a ten grand bonus to add another four years. That said, I was burnt out, me and Bobby had opted to leave. I had sixty days tops. The boat cruised back up the coast and had sea operations with the sub fleet. The Skipjack had daily runs out of New London. Darleen and I had a three day weekend, Memorial Day holiday. We hadn't seen each other for awhile. The train into New York and then Long Island was on time. That said, I had a room in Amityville for a couple of days. I wasn't staying at her father's estate that's for sure. She and I talked about the future. She was starting her senior year. I could live off campus and work in this small town up there. The weekend time with her was hot and steamy. I was having a hard time leaving her. I extended my stay. The train connections missed. The long goodbye. I was in deep trouble, being eight hours over due at the base. The captain was not happy. This sailor's ass was exposed. This wouldn't look good on my record, my first offense. The sub was building gallows on the back deck. The accused was in shackles. The boat left New London and would go to sea. The sailor then hung, weighted and buried. Then the submarine returns to port. The international rules in play. This was the Turkish submarine's resolve. The crew member accused of a rape. They handled there own and he didn't come back with them. That said, I faced a captain's mast and was knocked down from third class petty officer to seamen, two weeks restricted to the base. The captain told me if I reenlisted, they'd give me the rate back. Hardball for sure, the captain really liked me but they needed this IC electrician. I had a lot to think about. I'm sure glad it wasn't the Turkish Navy. The trip back to Norfolk went smooth. I would miss this crew and I loved this boat. The truth was the dark times back then. The public's treatment of the troops had a lot to be desired. It was not fair to the military men in general. I gave away all my Navy stuff in the end. These guys that were family to me deserved better. The service they performed, had not been recognized. The national defense ribbon was given after boot camp. We all earned it. The silent service needs to share their stories. The cold war submarine patrols lasted over three decades. These men risk much for their country. The United States has the best sub sailors. My tales are just that, ask my mother. I still have my dolphins, hanging in my old trawler. The Alley Cat the slowest boat on the Sea. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-16645664189671579842016-03-09T08:53:00.003-08:002016-03-09T08:53:36.376-08:00Deep Sea Chapter 15 The Sea and Me.... <br />
The Atlantic Ocean was flat as glass. We cruised out of the Chesapeake Bay. I was very excited and nervous about my new on-board position. The charged atmosphere and the lively chatter in the submarine was.. over this next patrol. Yours truly was sitting at the BCP (ballast control panel), ready for his first descent at the switches. The room was full of activity, on this particular morning. Skipjack had a new crew member sitting at the helm and dive planes. The captain was in the conning tower. He ordered the three men down from topside. The upper sail and bridge was cleared. I prepared to dive the boat for the first time. The hatches were all secured.... green lights on the board. The order was given. I opened all the vents and the boat started to submerge. Newly qualified and having my dolphins, life was good. The boat was trimmed and balanced for sea. The transit depth reached, and the course set. The Fast Attack Sub was now on its way, deep and fast. The Yosemite Sam at the wheel, he was in my old seat. The next six hours with me operating the ships control board was the first of many watches. Bobby McGee, the other board watch stander and I switching off the dive panel station every 6 hours. The rest of the crew standing the standard duty. That being the normal, three man rotation. The next two months would be hard on both of us, doing back to back. This trip was a special mission. The boat was rigged for surveillance video. Camera and viewing screen, through the new periscope. The spies on-board ran this equipment. Once on station, the crew was back into the routine. The days fell into a rhythm. Our mission was very successful dogging the enemy fleet. The one real issue happened on my watch toward the end of our mission. One of the new guys bringing the boat to periscope depth was having trouble. Seas in the North Atlantic were very rough, that day. He couldn't maintain the depth. Everyone was yelling at this kid. The boat could have been spotted. The sail was exposed in hostile waters, time and again. The kid finally had enough of this and snapped. He put the boat into full dive position. The sailor was screaming back in anger with his eyes bulging out. he was red in the face and showed a new kind of crazy. This sailor would not release the dive angle. The Skipjack was headed down. The crew had to physically remove him from the seat. The dive chief jumped into the chair and recovered the boat. The man was wrestled to the deck. He had to be sedated. This mission now had a real issue. The boat must return to Scotland, it took days. The medic on-board was constantly monitoring this sailor's health and well being. The nervous breakdown and deteriorating mental condition had us all on edge. The sailor was removed from the boat and from submarine duty. once in port. We ended that long run patrol, a little early. This guy was liked by all of us. I felt terrible. His dad was a diesel boat sub sailor. These stresses can get to anybody. This crew knew the risks of these patrols. At times, the job, the crew or just the stress and fear of the unknown, can cause issues. These emotions always an uneasy companion. How the crew handled the crisis situations was crucial. Bobby McGee and Benito had back to back watches. The fatigue and sleep deprived moments can cause lack of focus. Twelve hours a day on the BCP station in the control room was not easy. The real sea drama playing out moment to moment. Six hours at a time, boredom certainly wasn't our problem. The enemy ships, the ice, equipment troubles, the extra work load all factors to face. Then your personal laundry..... hygiene, eating and sleeping and the drills, this on your off time. That was enough to drive you crazy. This made Bobby and yours truly start a short timer calendar. We both had about nine more months to go until we left the navy. That now was playing with my head. The captain, to relieve some stress call for a swim day,on the way back across the Atlantic. The Skipjack was in the warm gulf current. We surfaced and stopped the boat, far from any shore just drifting. The sea was very smooth, flying fish, were darting around us. The crew had this amazing day at sea. The cargo net was attached to the starboard side. The sail plane became a diving board. The whole crew, hit the eighty degree water. It was surreal looking at the boat free in the deep blue sea. The crew and officers were floating in six thousand feet of water. Surrounded by blue so deep, it was a shock to my soul. The shark watch stander with a sub machine gun brings me back to reality. The swim was so different. The swim trunks required and a good idea, especially hitting the water from sixteen feet high. This experience at sea made me more at home on the blue water. The only problem was the big ass jelly fish going by. I was afraid that the shark watch would start shooting. These "man of war" jellies, you just want to stay clear of ….and the sailor with an automatic weapon in his hands.. That was an unbelievable time, it was definitely a first. Diving into the unknown waters and having your buddies right by your side. This was the crew.. all of us wearing big smiles. These guys were real men at sea. Back in Norfolk, the crew was enjoying their off time. The space program had sent a man, to walk on the moon. The music was the best of all time. This summer of 69', it really moved me to find myself.. I had met all my goals to this point. I was relating to Johnnie Cash's song "a boy named Sue." This naval sub service made me way tougher. The sailor back on the train going to New London for the first time, was scared of his own shadow. That was the summer of 66'. The sub service was now my home. The few days, we had in Scotland had been interesting. The crew was off duty, the liberty was entertaining. We had a real show at the pub, one evening. This Scottish girl and a Irish lassie had a brawl. It was over old boat chief.. stationed on the sub tender ship, the Simon Lake. These two girl's tempers matched any that I'd ever seen. Blood, guts and beer an a language that stung your ears. The battle over the chief. This guy gets up and left with somebody else. That was the Navy. The drinks filled our belly’s and we laughed out loud. We were glad to be going home. The guys not talking about the incident or the last mission. The code of the sea was silence.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-38310813557970877802016-03-08T21:32:00.002-08:002016-03-08T21:32:31.039-08:00Brotherhood Chapter 14<br />
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Brotherhood <br />Life got better, the crew was back in Norfolk with day to day operations. Spirits seemed to flow more normally now. The Skipjack's downtime would last a few months or so. The boat's sail getting a new hard hat and periscope, that was a top priority. These moments are frozen in time some fifty years later. My sub family was important to me. Orders, transfers, and the changing times, guys would come and go. The other boats in the fleet needed qualified people too. Tommy (two shoes) my mentor, had one shoe in his professional navy career. The other shoe in his lifestyle choices. He had to move back to California because of his other choices. He was not in step with the Navy, a very sad day. Shorty was from California. We were close, he and I had peeled a lot of spuds together. Shorty was sent to the USS Shark, another fast attack. We're still friends these many years later. The sub had Johnnie Red from Tennessee. He ran the boat's clerical services and kept us informed and out of trouble. George (whitey,) he was a great electronic technician. Whitey was from Chicago town. He had some crazy black gangland ties back home. Jay was from Alabama, the man who swung a mean grease gun in a pinch. Vic from Georgia, the mad hatter from engineering. He knew how to party and proved it on a regular bases. The boy from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Robert Lee beat all the windows out of his girlfriend's house, she'd said "no" to his marriage proposal. He did it with his fists, still wearing the bandages back on the boat to prove it. I was a part of this team and it worked. Waldo left also, after chasing someone with a meat ax. The sailor had the nerve to complain about the mash potatoes. Waldo was here and then he was gone. The elite boat crew weren't all pirates. Their stories and sea tales still live in my memory. The winter of 1968. I'm now below decks watch and control panel operator. Boat repairs almost done and party time coming to a close. The Skipjack is ready once again. We have some new crew members and some haven't been to sea yet. The boat is back on the pier. The boat was flushing primary coolant to a tank on the dock. Young Sam is topside watch and I'm below decks watch. I called up from the control room to Sam, need coffee up there? No answer was received. I climbs up into the bridge area to check on him. The kid is gone from the sail plane station to the dock down the gangway plank. He's standing by the flush lines and is wet trying to connect a broken line. I scream don't touch that.. it was to late. I ordered him to stand on the pier and do not move. The next call is the officer of the watch. We then call the Hazardous Material team in the yellow suits. The whole team must of showed up. Siren and lights flashing at least three big trucks and a dozen men were on the pier. Yosemite Sam is stripped and scrubbed down, his red hair scrubbed too. The radio active cleanup and other measures to insure safety are in place. Its two o'clock in the morning and all hell is breaking loose. The kid had no idea, what was up. Thank God, it turned out okay, a freshwater hose break. Sam wasn't exposed to the radiation spent coolant. The outcome was the same, poor guy. The protocol not followed got Sam in hot water. This nuclear reactor is not a toy. We all wore film badges to check monthly radiation levels, all the time. The good news was he was alright. The bad news he was busted and transferred to the hospital for more tests. Those yellow suits were serious about their job. We had heard the Russian fleet got childless pay. Their sub sailors got to much radiation exposure from the reactors. Russian nuclear submarines had less lead shielding. We got better equipment, I was told. That said, my hair hasn't fallen out yet. The Candy man and I talked about the trouble up north and how we handled ourselves. I think we did okay, the bottom was closer than we figured on. That said, we were interviewed at length by upper brass and sworn to say nothing for twenty five years. I think now is the time to shine a light on what these men did for their country. Candy man was from New York another clerical clerk. He liked his coffee very sweet and lots of cream. I was studying for Second Class Petty Officer and finishing my boat qualifications. The Interior Communications division was down to me and Bobby McGee, once we numbered six guys. That put pressure on both of us. Standing watch at sea, the control room required one of us on watch and that would be tough on a long run. The year is now 1969, I just turn twenty years old. The shake down cruise behind us. the boat would be back on station soon. I passed the test for Second Class Petty Officer on January 31, 1969. <br /> I get a letter from home. My cousin is now in navy boot camp. I remember those days being really tough on the new recruits and your scared of everybody. I hatch a plan, my letter from home supplies me with his address in San Diego. These isolated guys loved mail call. His fourth week of training is a lot of tests and career data. Eddie, the new recruit had always busted my chops when we were kids. I had a talk with one of my friends in clerical on the base. He supplies me with official navy letter head and envelope. My buddy types the correspondence and stamps it, Secret top priority. The return address being from the Department of Naval Affairs. The best part, I drove to Washington DC and mailed it. The post stamp was real. What are cousins for? Well I guess the navy does have a sense of humor. The letter is hand delivered by the base high command. Cousin Eddie sweating and wide eyed opens it up, reading how his test scores has put him into a special assignment. That the Navy needs him to perform these duties. The good of our country was at stake. He'd be reporting to a secret location. The pass word was cousin Benny. I never got in trouble for that action. My cousin, he never blew the whistle on me. Eddie was a special pirate too. We stole our first candy bars together. Eddie and I still talk and laugh about that moment in the military service.<br /> Time is passing along and I finally get my dolphins from the captain. The date is March 18, 1969. Sixteen months it took me. I was afraid, they'd transfer me off the Skipjack, just like the old boat. I loved this submarine and crew, by slowing down the process. I stayed on the boat, a made man. The captain would not allow the crew to let me drink my dolphins. I wasn't twenty-one yet. I kind of missed that moment. We were "Family," those men guided me along. Yosemite Sam was back on-board and mess cooking again. The story of him trying to save the day, was well earned. Our orders had come in. This meant another long run patrol. Another night at Bells bar, here we come. The off duty crew reports on the dock were all smiles that morning at muster. The crew boards the Skipjack for a new patrol at sea. This time the spies go with us.<div style="clear: both;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-57000315308553196832016-03-08T15:07:00.003-08:002016-03-08T17:38:35.756-08:00Longest Day Chapter 13<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 22px; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;">
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Living the Longest day <br />
The submarine service in the Navy could be good or bad. I missed my girlfriend that was a good thing. My work load on the other hand was a pain in the ass, keeping me real busy on the boat. The reality of my life was nothing ever stayed the same or was ordinary. We had to carry these special weapons now and then. This particular Mark torpedo was a bad thing. The security around this weapon was unbelievable. The secret was out, the weapon involved and paperwork was not at all fun. Astor Security watch at sea or at any given port was around the clock. We loaded these two torpedoes on board now and again. These torpedoes had a nuclear warhead, that if shot out a torpedo tube would not be good. This missile, I'll call the Hammer was designed to take out multiple targets. Like a convoy or maybe even the boat that shot it. The Hammer was a special kind of headache for sure. I was a qualified Astor security watch. This job required you to be in the same room with these bad boys. If you weren't on the access list to the torpedo room, I could shoot you. Twenty-four hours a day, the Hammer had to be monitored and protected from your own crew. The thing was... if we had to shoot it. The Skipjack would rig for depth charge and run as fast as possible in the other direction after firing. Don't you just love the guys that rolled this one out. The Cold War was heating up. They were putting men on the moon, anti war protests all over the country. Civil Rights and Nixon in the White House. The late 1960's is at full throttle. I am now and was back then all about protecting the United States. This submarine was my job, somehow it seemed Waldo wasn't the only crazy one on the block. The summer of 1968, I'm nineteen years old and missing my girlfriend. Life was so simple on one hand, but the other not so much. These killer submarines were designed to sink nuclear subs that may threaten the United States or our friends. The Russians had more submarines than we, at that time. The games played between our countries were serious. The next adventure was a patrol to the North Seas again and real close contact with our adversary's navy fleet. The blue nose special to the heart of the enemy territory. We had painted the numbers off the sail. That was so the boat would not be to flashy at this party. I was not standing Astor watch just so you know. This mission was to take a few pictures and make a head count. The crew was up for anything at this point. One of our own subs just lost at sea and we all suspected the wolf hound. That said, not having the Hammer on board was probably a good thing. Time was going by slowly on station. My morning watch was getting started at 4 am. Coffee cup in hand, I head up to the control room, red goggles over the eyes. The room was rigged for red. This to protect the officer's night vision. The stern planes are next to me and the candy-man has taken over his chair. The helm and sail planes are my seat. People are changing watch behind us and the officer of the deck has the conning tower. He is reviewing the chart positions of the sleeping fleet above our heads. Twenty or so warships sitting right above us, this bay is full. The enemy coast line is twilight by the summers glow. The conning officer says, make your depth, periscope level. I said, aye aye sir, repeating the order. This action requires a slow rise and by no means expose the boat. I call out the rising depth as we go up. the submarine is at a crawl as far as speed. The attack scope starts to move up from the well. This is a narrow shaft that doesn't leave much of a trace on the surface to see. The officer is bent over slightly with his arms over the handles and eyes in the view finder. The periscope still rising to full position. This is a routine maneuver to do a head count and then compare to our active chart info. This enemy fleet and most of our crew is fast asleep on the early morning rise. The Skipjack's skeleton crew is running the show. Life in slow motion, as my worse nightmare starts to unfold. Sonar has done a sweep of the area, there is nothing to report. I'm still calling out the depth by smaller increments now. The last few feet to the surface's periscope depth. There is a loud screeching of scraping metal. The whole boat heels over. The officer behind me is being tossed out of the conning tower's platform. He's thrown from the pitching periscope. The leak now is spraying icy water down the back of my neck and everywhere else. The instantaneous thunder and more crushing steel on top of our heads. Candy-man and I push both wheels down without orders to full dive. The captain is now on the platform in his underwear relieving the now bleeding from the head, officer of the deck. The cold seawater is hissing through bearing as the machinist mate armed with a grease gun shows up. The periscope flooding into the control room has been stopped by tightening the gasket around the base with a grease gun. The overflow in the periscope well is being addressed at the same time. The next deck below and home to the battery floor hatch. Now covered with mattresses to protect it from the saltwater. Battery acid and seawater can cause chlorine gas and kill everyone, this isn't a fun time. You could hear an alarm sounding from the whale, we had hit above us. The boat down angle is punctuated by the planes men auto response to the collision. The downward thrust by hitting this object above us, also a factor. The captain ordering rudder and planes to neutral. The depth was increasing anyway. The boat crashing into the bottom of this bay, it was not a soft landing. The crew is now wide awake some of us saying prayers under our breath. The submarine just sitting on the bottom. The Russian Fleet is now on full alert. Sonar is reporting the screw noises of many ships on the hunt. Wolf hounds now looking for our hare. The captain confers with all compartments for damage reports. The off duty crew is ordered to their bunks, ultra quiet is a good term. The boat seems sound and we are in no immediate danger so far. We need to move out of this bay to open water, post haste. The fact, we are the fastest submarine on the planet. We could out run any of their ships, this did make a good case for our survival. That said, the boat needed to get off the bottom slowly. The destroyers and faster patrol boats were off to close the entrance to the bay ahead of us. We blew some air into the ballast tank. The sub rose from the bottom. The captain orders full speed ahead. Bang, bang and bang, the bell is ringing, all stop!!! is ordered. The periscope is pounding into the sail area above our heads, more grease is applied to stop the seawater. The problem the periscope can't be retracted. The observation is made the scope is bent down horizontal to the superstructure. Therefore we are now a bell and dong.<br />
This would give away the Skipjack's position and be a death blow for sure. Time is measured in slow inhales and exhales. The boat moves slowly, very slowly to the rhythm of the dance. This slow crawl probably saved all of our lives. It took us days to clear the area. Their forces rushing to catch us. The darkness was our friend as we surfaced somewhere out at sea a few days later. The team is on the bridge to cut the periscope off at the bend and again below the sail. the front of the superstructure crushed in. Transmission of this news to the powers that be, probably made waves all the way to Washington. We were okay and could still operate. These men had rallied together as a team. They pulled this rabbit out of harms way. The paper work and interviews were almost as bad as the event. The good and bad of Navy life, returning to Norfolk outside the tender in the dark. The next day a blanket covering the broken sail, the whale incident over. Praise the crew, we all survived. This really didn't happen but I have a great imagination.... now don't tell.... sailors are great lairs too...</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-68740971839237714382016-03-08T07:45:00.004-08:002016-03-08T07:49:07.432-08:00Dark Days Chapter 12<br />
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We returned to Norfolk, our submarine was slated for another long run patrol. You might get the idea that we spent a lot of time at sea. Sometimes over two hundred and sixty days a year or more. That said, The Skipjack was headed north again. We were all jealous of our sister ship, another fast attack nuclear submarine. They were stationed out of Norfolk too. The Scorpion was assigned to the Sixth fleet in the Mediterranean Sea a good will tour. The Scorpion left Norfolk and got underway on February 15, 1968. This was the end of March, we were headed back up to the Arctic Circle again. The “Blue Nose” ceremony was a highlight for the crew. I was the royal photographer and documented the event. The new mess cook, Sam and a few others had to be indoctrinated into the Royal Club. My first long run was my turn at being a Blue Nose. That said, this was my second long run, this ceremony was a lot more fun because I was recording it. King Neptune was in the royal chambers aka (crews mess). The newbies were blindfolded. The password was "More." The royal drink (thick green stuff) was ready and the punishment administered, then they shaved an “A” in the back of newly sworn-in guy's skulls. The kissing of the Buddha’s belly was real special, trust me. The greased belly of Neptune as your face is rubbed into it.on your knees, then to repeated the password. The chief aka "King Neptune" had a hairy beer belly for sure. The smack on the ass with the royal paddle and your initiated. Welcome to the Arctic Circle newbies. Life aboard was running smoothly on station. The submarine crossing under the ice was always interesting. Coffee runs and drills, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Soup down was on the new guy Sam, a real blue nose. The time moved along. I was now the ship's photographer, in my spare time. I'd process the film and had my own dark room. The captain would take pictures through the periscope and I would develop the shots in the lab. Sometimes with him right outside the door to make sure, we got the shot. The captain relieved me on this patrol from mess cooking. We had a target rich environment in these long daylight periods. The Russian Navy Fleet did war maneuvers on the surface. I was the only man qualified dark room photo technician. I felt important in these days on the Arctic Ocean. The time was fast approaching, our return to Scotland. We pickup a signal that our sister ship had not reported in. The fast attack submarine, USS Scorpion (SSN589) was missing somewhere on her return from the Mediterranean. This was my friend and my old sea dad's boat from the days on the diesel boat. The cook Richard, who had help me stay in the program at the start of sub school. This man who was my shipmate on the Cubera. The crew of ninety nine men were all missing. They were very qualified crew and had been awarded metals for their previous service. Skipjack was ordered to stay on station for twelve more days. This hit me very hard, my heart almost fell out of my chest. This couldn't be, the sub went down with all hands. The date was May 22, 1968. Our crew took it very hard. We all had friends on Scorpion. I've tried to make these chapters fun and more about my silly adventures. I've changed names and put the points of my sea tales in a good light. That said, this sailor couldn't talk about any of these things for along time. The human feelings are the hardest lessons for me. These people, I served with will live in my heart till it beats no longer. These men that never returned. The year of 1968, four other submarines were lost at sea. These are the other three: Israeli submarine INS Dakar, the French submarine Minerve, (S647) and the Soviet submarine K-129. All these boat crews will be missed. Submariners are a brotherhood and I'm proud to be in their numbers.<br />
The orders had changed after seventy two days on sea patrol. The Soviets were suspected in this accident. Scorpion's last communication had said a Russian submarine was tailing her. On this patrol, no enemy sub approached their northern base from the south. The Skipjack was finally ordered to Holy Lock in Scotland. There could be some issue with the rest of the fast attacks in the fleet. We were mechanically checked out in Holy Lock. The Skipjack now ordered back to Norfolk on the surface. A much slower transit and more vulnerable posture. Talk about high alert, the captain kept us all busy with attack scenarios and responses. The sonar and lookouts on the surface kept a sharp vigil on the open waters.<br />
Days and nights on the North Atlantic, the crew tense and moody. Waldo the cook was catching hell. We were half way across the Atlantic when it happened. It was flat calm and kind of eerie that morning. Our sonar had picked up a faint signal, the radar had a small blimp on the screen a possible periscope. The friend or foe radio signal was met with no response. The captain was called to the control room. The crew went to battle stations. I took over my position as helmsman. The captain climbed up to the bridge followed by three armed personnel. The captain order the course change to intercept the target. We entered a fog mist closing in on the prey. The crew was on edge, the torpedo tubes loaded. I think that I was the only one glad to see that it was a sailboat cutting through the mist. The front runner of the transatlantic sailboat race. I would think an armed submarine clearing the mist into their peaceful world was quite startling. They brought the sub-machine guns back down the ladder. Life at sea improved as we passed these majestic yachts for the rest of that day. The Skipjack headed west and the sailboats to the east. The Russians didn't show up. I was glad to get back to almost normal. The cruise into Norfolk was a sad and a meaningful time with family and friends. The loss of that many was heart felt by all. Rest In Peace... brothers.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-14847851782112975562016-03-07T05:25:00.002-08:002016-03-07T06:45:43.374-08:00Smooth Seas Chapter 11 Smooth Seas <br />
Leaving Miami, the Skipjack was headed back north. Our captain kept a close eye on the boat's navigation this time. We moved back through that mystery zone. The boat had no other issue with our track or compass heading. The submarine did stop back in Bermuda, my new nickname was now "man killer" that got kind'a old quickly. I would stay on the military base in Bermuda because of cash flow issues. That night at the enlisted man's club, it was a little boring but just fine with me. The place was packed with other navy personnel and their were no cross dressers present. The beer was cold and a lot less money. The submarine had a two day stop over. The guys picking up booze and smokes, and it was all tax free. The Skipjack crew was able to bring the bounty back on-board. The treasure was loaded into a torpedo tube, all eighty men had one and a half gallons a piece. The booze and other gifts filled number 3 tube, it was locked away. Once back at sea the captain, kept us all on our toes. He would threaten to shoot the load out to sea if reaction times did not improve on drills and such. On our return to Norfolk, it was now in the early spring. The boat came up at the same spot, we had submerged. The horn sounded, Surface! Surface! Surface! It was my eighteenth time bringing up the boat. The air rushing into the tanks. That big rumble under your feet. The boat's periscope raising and the submarine's up-angle to the surface. This was always exciting and an even number. I loved this shit... The paint crew was back on the top deck, painting out the yellow spots. I was starting to hate that Beatles song. I had a four day pass that weekend coming up. I was ready for a road trip to New York. This time sharing the ride with other crew members in a Chevy sedan. Long Island and Jones Beach was my destination. That was where my girl lived. I met her in upstate New York. She had invited me to her home at Easter vacation. I was excited about hooking up with her again. She was a little rich girl. My girlfriend, Darlene was a dream come true and made me happy. Her daddy had design the New Jersey Turnpike. I was totally out of my league but what the hell. I met her at West Point Academy, at the military dance. The Army cadets had invited the private girl's school a time honored tradition. The college was just down the way. My sister's husband was stationed at the Army base at West Point, Dennis was enlisted and worked as a mechanic at the auto pool. This sailor shows up driving my TR-3 sports car just before Christmas, the year before. I was visiting my sister and her new baby boy. All military members could attend these dances, so I did. The town of West Point had no nightlife so why not, besides I was a third wheel in my sister's small apartment. The Army guys didn't seemed to mind this lone sailor in their club. That said, I sure stood out. The soldier's all in their student uniform and me in my navy custom dress blues sporting a Miami tan. The dance was a little slow at first, but the punch bowl was spiked. My dance card was full but I had spotted this attractive damsel. Darlene and I danced the night away. She was beautiful and very different from the other girls. We were both tipsy as I took her back to her college. The two of us went back to the girl's dorm that night, totally against the rules. Darlene's room was on the third floor, it was crazy. I stayed with her till the next morning. The day being Sunday, the two of us spent the time motoring around in my car. The Catskill mountains were green and beautiful. I wrote her every week from Virginia after my return to the base. This vacation trip north a few months later would be a first. Her dad had been in the navy also. This trip was to her family estate on Long Island. The private road and grounds leading up to the house were beautiful. The mansion sat on the point looking out to sea. I had my own suite in the left wing. I was as nervous as a cat. I wore black dress slacks, a white dress shirt. My yellow cashmere sweater came from an earlier trip to Scotland. Cocktails at seven and then dinner. She looked amazing and I just smiled. The grand piano sat on a raised floor off the living room. This area surrounded with three walls of glass all facing the Atlantic. Darlene sat at the key board playing a soft melody. The old man entered the room. I felt uneasy with him, her dad was a naval officer in his day. They all tried to make me feel at home. Thank God, he couldn't read my thoughts. Darlene was a temptress hidden in an Angel's outfit. She kept whispering and touching my leg, right through dinner. That weekend she drove me crazy under her father's roof. Darlene would sneak into my room at night, I felt a lot safer at sea. I did survive this visit and return to the navy base that following Tuesday. The long drive home, she lived in my thoughts. I was smitten and lost to this little hell's angel. This long distant romance was difficult but Darlene was very special to me. The Skipjack still had issues and the decision was made to dry dock the boat and test the pressure hull welds and such. This floating huge dock would submerge, the boat entered it, a big door shut. The dry dock would rise and the water was pumped out. Our submarine sitting on blocks and out of the water. They had to sandblast the whole boat and applied a new finish no more yellow nightmare, that was good. The major work and x-rays of the hull were also done, any issues were resolved. I stood my fair share of fire watch as the welding was done. The timing was right for me to take my first two week leave and go back to California. This sailor hadn't been home in over two years. Nineteen years old, I had changed a lot. The fifteen days in California proved to everyone that I had grownup a little. This time in Stockton was a blur and my memory is vague. Benito, Mac and Bean had some fun as I listened to their stories. The family loved having me home. Bean was just starting college. Mac had a young daughter and was working full time. We all had grown-up. I stayed at my mother's house and visited with my Dad and his new wife. Things didn't seemed to change much in town. I had this feeling of being on the outside, looking in. My old girlfriend, Shelley Beaver long since gone out of my life. I enjoyed the break but was glad to get back to my boat. I was still a kid in that world. The party was over, I was starting my second tour as mess cook. That’s right! back with Waldo the crazy cook. The times, I spent working in the galley on the old diesel boat the Cubera, were missed. Remembering peeling potatoes on the topside deck with my sea dad, Richard. Both of us sitting on a couple of wood crates. The two of us laughing and telling stories, just a fond memory. This now my third time at mess cooking just didn't seem fair, sure wasn't as much fun. The best thing was, I being senior mess cook was in control of assignments. The new guy, who was finally younger than me. His name was Sam, a seaman just eighteen years old. I think he was a sonar tech. The truth was everyone below a certain rank got to stand this duty now and then. We took a shake down cruise to New London and spent some time there. The Skipjack had a VIP guest on-board for a special cruise out. Admiral Rickover, himself, that made us all very nervous, even the captain. Rickover was the "Father of the Nuclear Submarine Program,"and that was it, period. He put the boat to extreme trials and radical moves. Then he'd crawl around the power plant and engineering checking it out. This boat was one of his babies. He scared the shit out of all of us. The officer wardroom dinners were always handled by Chief Stewart, Pete. Who knew the Admiral personally. This old man was on the crew of the original Skipjack. A World War Two diesel boat that saw action. This man was a living example of the perfect sub sailor. He ran the officers mess and special dinners. I liked him very much. This event involved live lobster and steak dinner with bake Alaskan for dessert. The whole boat ate the same menu. Large bags of live lobster were delivered in New London. The captain's table got a whole twenty five pound dressed lobster, as the table center piece. That said, the two crew mess cooks got to play with this big bug. It's claws the size of my hands. Sam and I pulled off the safety tape and watch it snap a ballpoint pen in half with the large claw. We were both kids that day. Pete said, I need the main course back! boys. Life was good, smooth seas for sure. We had set the mooring lines and were tied into a slip in New London. The Father of the Modern Navy departed after dinner. Everybody got to breathe normally again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-71186154372127172492016-03-04T19:48:00.004-08:002016-03-04T19:48:54.988-08:00Miami Night Life Chapter 10 Miami Night Life Chapter 10<br />
Miami was going to be fun. I had the topside watch the first day in Port Everglade. That afternoon, the boat was along side the old Queen Mary. This wasn't a military dock. The tourists were interested in the nuclear submarine as they passed. The public dock was full of civilians touring the ship next to us. That made for a great afternoon duty. I was fielding questions from the crowds. Then the day got better. The captain arriving in a new red Cadillac convertible with three young blondes. They we're all laughing, definitely got my attention. I reported to the duty officer on the public address. "Skipjack arriving, Skipjack arriving," the duty officer was up on the bridge in an instant. We both salute the captain and his three guests as they board the submarine. The captain saying, well yes! this is my boat. I think that memory has been locked within me forever. The captain at thirty eight years old was just way to cool. I don't think this was a prayer group with him. The captain was a single guy after all. I had liberty the next day, we all had to wear our dress white uniforms on the beach. Something was said, about us being good ambassadors in this seaport. Yeah, right! a bunch of horny guys cruising paradise. The white sand beach covered with ladies in small bikini's. Just saying, the beach and women made my time here pass way to quickly. The club scene was way different than in Norfolk and expensive. That evening winds up at the "Four O'clock Club" the last place still open. The Skipjack crew found it, must be a sixth sense. This sailor was feeling no pain. The Vo' was flowing that night. This nightclub was dark and smoke filled. The bar wrapped around the whole inside back wall. The music was kind 'a trashy and the place was rocking. The dance floor was packed. The noise and laughter, the loud music, it was heaven. I'm in my element and living in the moment. The women were gorgeous and dress to kill, smiling like a Cheshire Cat, life was good. I spot this knockout sitting by herself. She was at a small table in the corner. This was arousing my curiosity, the eye contact from across the room, that was good. I ask my shipmates if they have seen anyone with her. Everybody shrugged and said no. That was my cue, watch my smoke guys. I made my move and she and I hit the dance floor. My quick footwork and a twirl, sent her out and back to me, a slow song is playing. This was way cool and I was smooth and confident. Then the lights came up. The next song more alive and upbeat. The curvy blonde was beautiful. The guys at the bar were all staring at us. We cut around the floor with ease. I held her tight and looked into her eyes, then it happened. The gaze had moved down. I noticed a beard stubble on my new girl. That made me weak in the knees and not in a good way. This sailor had a problem, if I outed my dance partner that might mean trouble. Everyone would notice, especially my buddies. I had to finish this dance. The long walk back to the table was tense. The room is now hushed. I thank her and head back to the bar. My crew, smirks were on their lips and it turned into a roar. They all knew before I walked in. That one was a girly man. Life was a tad uncomfortable for awhile after that... damn. The cool kid was not the same for a long time. Thank the gods it was over before something more personal had happened. I fled that scene. Back to the boat, Miami was not for me. The nightlife in Norfolk at least, I knew the rules. The white sand beaches and the warm night air had its allure. Who knows what the future holds down the road. The next day, the Skipjack is back to sea with me having a new nickname, man killer.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-62870325383518137032016-03-02T07:15:00.001-08:002016-03-02T07:15:52.083-08:00Navy Life Chapter 9 Navy Life Chapter 9 <br />
The cruise back to Norfolk from Scotland took us ten days. This sailor was studying for Interior communications electrician and still had boat qualifications to finish, this kept me real busy in my off hours. The normal day to day at sea, life was a whirlwind of activity. I had made “Third Class Petty Officer,” and started wearing this rate at the beginning of the new year. That said, me not having any school. I had trouble with the technical operations involved and maintenance, making my book work and study time much harder. Tommy, was the electrician gang's leader had help me pass these tests. He got me my promotion. His name was Tommy (two shoes.) He was also from California. Tom had been my mentor for six months. The gang leader was a special person. The maintenance of gear and telephones communications equipment was my new job. The Skipjack had a few mechanical issues on our return to home port. We were sent across the bay to Newport News Shipyard. While at this repair dock the boat needed spruced up. The captain appointed a painting crew to redo the exterior of the boat's surface area. We had some bumps and scrapes that needed attention. Our hull numbers also had to be painted back on. I was assigned to this paint crew. The red primer was not found at the ships store. We borrowed some primer from an aircraft carrier next to us. Our problem being, their deck crew was using yellow zinc oxide primer instead. It took us two days of chipping paint and cleaning the surface. The boat was ready for primer. We painted the boat. The Skipjack, was turned into the yellow submarine. We all admired the new look, it was a trendsetter for sure. The skipper was not happy at his return that afternoon. We were ordered to paint the boat's black finish coat back on. The captain wanted it done now. He said, do it right now or else!! “The Beatles” would have been proud, their new song, forever immortalized. The five men would learn to regret that afternoon's paint job. The very next day, we had stenciled the white numbers back on the sail. She looked great. I had missed a spot down on the bow, near the sonar dome, and was sent out that following cold morning to finish the job. Armed with a paper cup of black paint and a small brush. The mooring line was hanging over to the dock off the bow. I hadn't put on a life jacket or belt harness. I was not tied to the deck track with a safety rope as required. The two minute job turned bad for me. I had slipped on the scum line near the waters edge. This sailor went into the drink. The mooring line saved me from going all the way in, my dry white hat was still on my head. The topside watch announcing “man overboard” on the public address system, by the time the crew got there to rescue me.....I was back standing on the deck. I'd tried to explain, the water was cold, I had pulled myself out with the mooring line. I hardly got wet really.. They all started laughing out loud, the paint had hit the water before me. This sailor had a black horizontal line crossed my face. I was painted black from my eyes down. I just smiled, that oil based black stuff would not come off for a week. Trouble seemed to find me in those days, my life was full of surprises. Eighteen and in the navy was weird at times. I had a pay raise and with my hazardous duty pay, life got much better. A few of my crew and I rented a place on the beach just down from the base. Ocean views and this was my first bachelor pad, life was good. Tommy and this other guy would share all expenses. The place even had a pool. The two bedroom was just fine because the trio had duty on different days. Spending time at the pool, I met my neighbor Carol. She was older but very attractive. Carol was thirty-eight years old and had broken up with this navy chief. This boy's infatuation was hard to hide. She would invite me over for a drink at her place now and then. Most of the crew would build up their sexual stories to share with the others. Many of the facts stretched out of proportions. Carol was easy to talk with, she helped me understand some important differences. Her tutoring got me to realize what was real and what was fantasy. My education in this area took a major step forward. That few months was very special for your's truly. Now this was the silent service. That said, Carol gave me a good grade. Things were moving a long and I bought a sports car. Dad had sold my 55' Chevrolet at home and put the money in the bank for me. My new car was a 1956 Classic TR-3 Triumph, had two bucket seats with chrome wired wheels. The Cadillac gray exterior with red leather interior made me smile, what a ride. I had spent six hundred eighty dollars for her. I also had purchased a custom tailored, navy dress uniform, style was important. These long sea runs, meant a reward of more money. I would receive five to six paychecks all at once. Life was fun, when we were on-shore. The nighttime livened up too. These new skills that I acquired and a sporty ride helped. “The Righteous Brothers and The Beach Boys” set the mood. Mom had sent me to the “Arthur Murray Dance Studio.” I hated it in the seventh grade but it now had merit. Nightclubs around Norfolk had a lot of action. Sea time on the boat also meant that I had gained some more weight. Dressing in civvies and knowing how to dance made it easier to talk with the ladies. My dance card was full and a lot more interesting. The surface fleet would go to sea and some of the wives and sweethearts would hit the local bars, not fair but true. Learning these secrets and staying single made the navy more tolerable for me. The Ebb Tide Bar and The Peppermint Lounge were my play ground. The night before any sea operation. The off duty crew would meet at Bells. Sometimes the sub sailors would drink till dawn. We would be at muster at the dock, bright and early. The crew standing at attention. Some more sober than others. The roll call and last minute instructions were given by the captain. Then the Skipjack would leave Norfolk, out for more undersea adventures. Each man knowing the count had to always be an even number. Submerge and Surface needs to match. We all partied as if it were for the last time. These sub sailors counted on each other. That said, you could bet your life on it and did. The boat never cruised on the surface. After leaving port, The boat would always point to the east at a certain place and submerge. This was recorded by a Russian fishing trawler in the area. The same place on arriving back pointed west. Then we would surface. The Cold War policy at play. This cruise took us south and to the Bermuda area, The submarine entered the gulf stream and warmer waters. We had exercises with the fleet. Anti-submarine warfare drills. We being the rabbit and all the other warships the hound. The boat was a wily hare for sure. The hunt and kill for the surface navy was near impossible. They would restrict the submarine's movement and depth, even our speed. The Russian subs had moves, "Crazy I'van" comes to mind. The Skipjack also had moves. We called them "Angles and Dangles." I was the battle station helmsman and sail plane operator. This sailor's youth and reaction time put me in the driver's seat. These maneuvers were serious business for our captain. His French background and youth made my skipper put up a fiery front. The aircraft carrier was ground zero and the fleet tried to protect their prize. Classified details of these drills are safe but the rabbit was hard to beat. We all felt like "pirate's" during the two week trials. The reward was a few days off in Bermuda. The captain was pleased with the crew's performance. Liberty was great, the island being small and easy to navigate. This old British port of call had a lot of history. I rented a moped and explored this paradise. It was a mind bender after a few beers because the traffic flow was in the wrong lane. That said, my first trip here was wonderful. The Skipjack left the island as we continued south to Miami. The "Bermuda Triangle" stories in the crew's mess were amazing. The old timers telling their tales trying to scare me. Compass headings and course seemed harder to maintain. Shorty Longfellow, the boat's quartermaster was plotting the map. He and his bearings were a little perplexed. The sub's short run to Miami was interesting. The boat surfaced pointing west, outside the bay and harbor. The maneuvering watch was manned. The officer on the bridge couldn't visually read the landmarks. The problem being this lighthouse must of moved? The captain said, submerge the boat quick. We had come up off the coast of Jacksonville. That being three hundred miles to the north. Just saying, this was before GPS and computer tracks. The Bermuda Triangle did what? The Skipjack had the best navigational equipment of that era. The captain wasn't very amused. We finally cruised into Miami the next day. The paint crew was in trouble though, the boat looked like a spotted cow. Big yellow spots all over her hull. The captain was mortified. The five sailors in the old paint party were ordered on deck to paint them out. This well before the boat landed at the dock. All of us wearing the proper gear of course.<br />
I blamed it on the triangle some magnetic pull, don't you know.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-69357971032864982222016-02-23T05:16:00.004-08:002016-02-23T06:32:11.444-08:00Long Run Patrol Chapter 8 Long Run Patrols Chapter 8 <br />
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The late summer of 1967 found “The Skipjack” off the coast of Britain. The boat surfaces at sea, somewhere near a coastal military base. A helicopter approaches, its after midnight. The small spotlight flashes the sail bridge commander. The signal is returned. The British black navy chopper is hovering over us. Two men in black uniforms, one at a time are lowered to the wet deck. Skipjack crewmen await and catch each arrival. They are escorted below down the forward hatch. The North Atlantic sea state is confused and cold. This action happens quickly and the boat submerges with two British agents on-board. One man is a left lieutenant officer, the other a technician of some sort. The captain and lookouts come down the bridge tube and the last man shuts the two watertight hatches. I'm training on the helm and sail planes. This was so cool, the officer in the conning tower shouts, set your course north 000' compass heading and then make your depth one-hundred and sixty feet. I say, “aye aye sir” make my depth one-hundred and sixty feet and steering compass heading, north 000,' ... "Wuga' Wuga" Dive! Dive! The boat turns and starts the dive. The course is northward into the cold gray Arctic region.The officer shouts, increase your speed to thirty knots. The rabbit acknowledged the order. The best news, I wasn't a mess cook anymore. I took over as ship's photographer in training. This trip, I was now qualified to drive the boat. Living the dream and now a part of the crew. These accomplishments earned and signed off by the captain. Wow... this is better than serving coffee. These first months on patrol are very exciting carrying British agents and special equipment to run the coast near Russia.. Now eight weeks later and back from our patrol northern run, we will stop in Scotland. There is a real chill in the air as we cruise in. The Skipjack is on the surface, the maneuvering watch is set into Holy Loch, now the middle of October. This is the start of my second year on submarines. The port is appreciated by the crew and officers. The spies leave us here. The crew hit the town in civilian clothes as ordered. Everybody on the sub is sporting a beard, except yours truly. A milk mustache would be my only real try at that. The town of Dunoon was my first experience out of the United States. The Simon Lake submarine tender was now a temporary home, to our boat. Liberty awaited me. New adventures in Scotland and the pubs.<br />
The best news, did I tell you? I wasn't a mess cook anymore. Seaman Alley was also an armed topside watch. This sailor now a part of a repel boarder, topside group. Submarine defense in foreign ports. The team is armed with Thompsons, a forty five caliber sub-machine gun. Living the dream and now a part of the crew. The prize was my submarine dolphins' a slow work in progress for me. Now standing in a local Scottish Pub, with my crew letting off some steam. The rabbit is enjoying the moment. A torpedo man has been awarded his dolphins by the captain on this trip north. Now the crew celebrates this honor. We all have a great respect for this achievement. That said, the Chief of the Boat, another qualified torpedo man drops the silver metal emblem into serving pitcher and begins filling it. The different alcohols and all sort of other liquids mixed together. The crew starts the chant as the man picks up this chalice. He drinks this sick brew, spilling much of it down his chest. The prize at the bottom sliding into his lips and teeth, success and applause. This poor guy is now violently ill and shoots a shower of liquid into a large garbage can. The crew goes insane and hugs the soaked guest of honor. He is now a made man. Life at sea with my new family, feeling the love. Tom Jones wailing on the jukebox, " I'm coming home". I step up to the bartender and asked for a VO Press. Well son, we serve only one whiskey here, and its scotch. How would you like that? sailor. I said, straight up of course. This home brew went down with a bite. "Big Problem," the torpedo man wasn't the only one that had to be carried back to the boat. I was singing, I'm coming home, at the top of my lungs. That's the last time, I've ever had scotch, anyway the beer tasted better, life was good. The history is kind of skewed again. I had made multiple runs north on the sub. I was in uniform on the train ride to Edinburgh the capital of Scotland. The train ride was not to bad, a two day pass was needed. I was a loner and I liked it that way. Seaman Alley loved the crew but living in close quarters for months got old. Traveling through the green countryside was wonderful. I had ordered a big glass of milk in the club car. I was then sporting a new white mustache. The truth was all dairy was gone after the first week at sea, no green salads, The real eggs disappeared also. Funny what you miss on a long patrol at sea. The family and home were a real issue on these trips too. That said, I was making memories. The train station in this big city was amazing. I carried a small shaving kit and a change of socks. Sub Sailors travel light. The walk through the cobble stone lanes and the old structures was interesting but alas no camera. Downtown onto the main square, it was early afternoon. I was hungry and stepped into a Pub and Restaurant. The place was packed. The crowd feeling no pain and staring at me. Hey "Yank" come have one with us. This lone US Sailor is welcomed into their warmth. Set him up with a Scottish ale. The tankard mug had a glass bottom and the dark liquid was warm and syrupy. I looked through the bottom of the mug at all my new friends. They were watching intently. It was like drinking my dolphins, I thought. Benito had to finish it, thank God it was only a pint. The whole crowd cheered as I sat down the empty Stein. The pats on the back followed. I felt on top of the world. "Yank," you must see the Queen, you must see the Queen. They pushed me out the door into the square. Still shoving the sailor up to the front. Lines of people were gathering on the public parade route. Let the "Yank" through to the front with him. The tomb of the "Unknown Soldier" was in the foreground. The crowd hushed as the Royal Entourage came into view. The Judge Magistrate and his court walked by. They all were wearing long black robes and powdered wigs. The true meaning of a long hair. This Lady was wearing a yellow chiffon hat and dress. The dress was cut at the knee. She was carrying a bunch of yellow flowers. Queen Elizabeth was beautiful and actually waved at me and smiled. I stood there, the only US soldier present. My heart almost left my chest. She was surrounded by the masses, no real security near. Only fifteen feet from myself and others. She continued up the steps to this monument and bow to the royal kilted, Scottish guard. Then placed the flowers on the unknown soldier's tomb. The crowd roared. "OMG " I was my country's representative that day. I have no words for that moment. I wasn't hungry anymore. The tears weld up in my eyes. These people loved their soldiers. Life had strange benefits. One day your alone and wondering, why me? The next day your surrounded by the masses and cheering the Queen. These American submarines were an important vanguard for these Scottish people too. The smiling faces probably didn't know why we patrolled either, but their Queen did. The twist of events far from home. This sailor welcomed the tap on his back, it's for luck, mate'. The locals said, the stars on the back of your navy uniform, that's for luck. Local superstition or what? They all tap my shoulder. They would smile and grin at the American sailor. The luck was mine. I loved these people and there kindness to this boy from California. The long runs, we patrolled were important to them and us. The British, French, Canadian and American submarines all apart of the cold war effort. Opening the door to others. This sailor was moved that day. "It's for luck mate"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-11569582648191202552016-02-20T04:58:00.002-08:002016-02-20T16:45:08.080-08:00The Hare Chapter 7<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; letter-spacing: inherit; margin: inherit; padding: inherit;">Saturday, February 13, 2016</span></h2>
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<a href="http://loretoboaters.blogspot.mx/2016/02/the-hare-chapter-7.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;">The Hare Chapter 7</a></h3>
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“The Hare” Chapter 7 <br />
The next tale is not as easy to tell. There are many twists and turns. I wasn't excited about this new boat at all. This new submarine was the first of her kind. Skipjack was built in 1955 and launched 1959. I was still the youngest on-board and that means starting all over again. The Cubera was my first diesel boat. I really knew my station and place on-board her. The old crew would be missed. Ten whole months of my life on that old sub and then I'm transferred. I was almost finished qualifying and had found my niche. That meant getting my dolphins and the crew's respect, all out the window. This hit me hard, "discouraged" was a good word. Back to ground zero, why? The Skipjack was the fastest nuclear submarine in the world. My new crew made me feel uneasy. The guys seemed much more formal and detached. Seaman Alley was changing directions again. Who out there was yanking my chain? I was mess cooking again, not knowing anyone. This unknown had me in a funk.<br />
The Interior Communication Electricians gang was my new assignment, totally different for me. I had no idea what they even did. The new guy, was kind of depressed for sure. The crew made up of real professional men, most we're college educated. The engineering group on-board alone had an extra two years of nuclear training. The school, they attended was ran by Admiral Rickover. He was dean and head master, made Hitler look like a choir boy. Rickover ran a tight ship. This sailor was intimidated by this new company of the navy's elite. I must be intellectually disabled, Sailor Alley's on this fool's errand, be strong and confident was my new motto, “yeah, right.” I'm the kid, who made coffee and peeled potatoes. I can think about it later, enough sniveling. The cook's name was Waldo, he liked his staff on time and efficient. The crew and officers numbered over a hundred men. I started work at five o'clock in the morning. We would work until the last plate was washed that night. There were three mess cooks. We kept the boat fed. That meant all three sit-down meals served family style. Then everyday ended with a soup down about eleven o'clock at night. Two months of this, you have met the entire crew. These guys were very somber at my arrival. This was misunderstood by yours truly. The truth came out later over coffee and cake. Some of the crew was starting to warm up to me. The problem was I had replaced a great guy. They all loved this man, he was a skilled electrician rated sub sailor. The last long run patrol, this electrician had accidentally been killed. Electrocuted behind the control room areas at the switch panels. The boat was underway in some emergency situation. The crew had to bag his remains and freeze him in the walk-in box. No wonder they weren't to friendly to the new guy. How do you fix that? Lots of time and healing. I wasn't the answer, they were looking for. I kept really busy mess cooking. I had no energy to feel sorry for myself or this crew. Fire drills, wearing gas masks, we had flooding drills. Radiation leak drills and emergency secure compartment drill, I knew that one. Everybody up and clean the boat days. Battle Stations and more safety drills, could keep a guy out of the rack (bed) a lot. Qualifying the boat had to happen, not on duty but off. My own time didn't exist, just having four or five hours of sleep maybe a day. That was broke up into catnaps. Our first patrol for me was two months. The submarine had lots of sea time. The old diesel boat stayed close to shore maybe a two week patrol. This boat could be anywhere and was. The Atlantic was a small place for us. Speedy and not having to come up for air or fuel. That meant the Skipjack was totally independent from the rest of the world. We were on a spaceship in this big blue ocean. Two hundred and fifty foot long fast boat, left the rest of the fleet way behind the curve. We could stay on a patrol as long as it took. Fast Attack Submarines meant hunter killer to enemy subs. This Nuclear Submarine set the standard at that time. A real deep and deadly weapon at sea. Our class of boats numbered six. The boat being the ultimate threat. The next two and a half years, I would sharpen my skills and be an asset to the boat and crew. First things first, I was to make coffee taste right. The time is 10:30 pm, I'm getting ready for a soup down and made coffee in the two big urns, forty cups per tank. That said, the control room is rigged for red and they wanted the hot brew. Mess cook Alley takes the orders, two blonde and sweet, 3 black and bitter, 2 blonde and bitter, Officer in the Conn' wants bitter and sweet. This operation center is dark as I take the tray up the ladder one floor. The boat is really vibrating through the seas, thirty two knots at six hundred feet. Headed east to England's coast in a few more days. We are steaming across the Atlantic. These guys would be relieved in an hour. That's a cold black ocean on the other side of the pressure hull with no wave action felt at this depth. My life was moving forward faster. The engineering team sends a guy up forward for their coffee. They are back behind the reactor compartment in the maneuvering control room. The sub is running on maybe eighteen percent power. These numbers are vague of course. The soup down is in the crews dining area. This always involved barking and snarling aimed at the cook. Waldo was a little touchy about the crews complaints. He was known to over-react. That said, he told me once he wanted to poison some of his biggest critics. Waldo continued, I'd have to poison everybody to get away with it. Crazy was alive and well, he was my boss. Soup down was the only time the crew could talk about him and get away with it. Waldo slept at this meal. Crewman Alley never ate the soup, just saying.<br />
My old stories of the diesel boat got some smiles and my lost love at Bells Bar got a laugh or two, thanks to Snorkel Patty. The rabbit was moving on, my adventures would get better promise. The crew was liking the new kid, nicknamed rabbit. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-24434373144067183572016-02-13T15:42:00.001-08:002016-02-15T21:03:06.754-08:00Making Waves<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I didn't have white hair back then...my two boys are in the second photo, forward torpedo room on another old diesel boat in San Francisco a few years back. The first photo was my second boat, I was on The Skipjack SSN. 585 the first nuclear powered fast attack, These other photo's are of my crew during my four years in the navy...the last one was the USS Cubera SS. 347 my first submarine... luckily it was shooting this fish and not on the receiving end... the cartoon was drawn by a shipmate on a cruise under the ice cap...cold war era.. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-91158559636084471472016-02-13T12:14:00.003-08:002016-02-14T04:05:55.921-08:00New York City Chapter 6<br />
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<a href="http://loretoboaters.blogspot.mx/2016/01/new-york-city-6th.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;">New York City Chapter 6th</a></h3>
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(line handlers on deck) “Cubera arriving” <br />
The boat motoring into New York Harbor. This navy submarine enters the city's wharf area after passing Ellis Island. This was the second time by the Statue of Liberty, “the old girl herself,” isn't that right mom? I was standing lookout with a big lump, in my throat. The view was breathtaking in this early morning calm. It was good to be coming into a dock at the Brooklyn Navy Shipyard, especially after that big storm. Three days in this town and old enough to drink, “yahoo”. The crew was ready for liberty. I wanted to see Broadway and Fifth Avenue. That said, Benito was dressed in his regulation blues, my shoes were shined and my white hat was clean. This was not to easy a feat on a diesel boat. I strolled through Central Park and some of the other tourist sights. I was headed downtown to a place called “Dempsey's.” Anybody in uniform got a free drink on the house. The restaurant and bar was a museum of bare fist fighters. The full wall murals showing the famous and not so famous. The men battling in the ring. Jack Dempsey was the best of the best. He started fighting in the Colorado mining camps. Three deep to this bar, I finally got a stool. This sailor, being me, ask the barkeeper to give me a VO Press. I said, that's Canadian VO' Bourbon and a twist of lemon adding seven up and club soda float on top of the ice. He said, I know what it is kid, let me see your ID, sailor? The bartender looked at it a long time, shrugged and then served me. I was really sweating bullets. I saw a picture of this particular mixed drink in a magazine. I wanted that special cocktail at Dempsey's Bar in New York on my birthday. I drank this cocktail way to quickly, but it was <span style="font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 16.8px;">very</span><span style="font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 1.4;"> good. I'll have another one please, this being my second legal drink. New York had an eighteen year old drinking age. This time it cost me three bucks! I slowed way down and sipped it very slowly. Since that was real expensive on my sailor's budget. I've been drinking them over forty years now. I do switch to Crown Royal now and then but still like the taste of VO' Bourbon. My wallet said, it was time to be on my way. I left "five bucks" on the bar and got up to go. I accidentally stepped back on this old man's toe. Oh! sorry sir, I didn't see you. He smiled and said, let me buy you one, son. His kind eyes told me, he was alright. Jack Dempsey waved the bartender over and said, Joe, this one is on me. The barman said “yes sir,” that's a VO Press, right? That's right, I sure do thank you, Mr. Dempsey, as he smiled again and disappeared into the crowd. “Kid Blackie” didn't look like his pictures on the wall. There was many years between then and now. These days many people didn't like servicemen. That said, Jack, the heavy weight champion of the world, wasn't one of them. The guys back on the boat didn't believe it, but so what, I did. The city was alive that night. I walked slowly down the boulevard, checking out all the sights. I took the subway to Brooklyn and walked back to the boat to save my bus fare. I had duty the next two days. Our submarine was still in port, that was no problem. I ran out of cash quickly in those days. What was the reason, the sub was here in New York? It must have been a secret, at least I didn't know why. The next port was the submarine base at New London. That meant two more days at sea. The sub cruised on the surface this time. Studying the pipe systems had me crawling through the interior of the boat. I was drawing outlines of valves and more pipes. I was getting signed off on this and that system. This kept me real busy on the boat. Yogi, my engine room chief was frustrated with me, because mechanical stuff wasn't my strong suit. Those diesel engines hated me. Fireman Alley, it was decided would be an electrician. That would be a little cleaner anyway. I had to turn in my bilge rat hat. The new guy, who got my old job probably loved engines starting with his first lawnmower. I knew every valve in the forward and aft engine rooms, well, that was a good thing. The one engine, the navy had removed was replaced by a secret device. The navy was trying out some new equipment. A master something.... maybe that's why we stopped in New York City. This was an interesting piece of gear. The “Silent Service” is just that. We can't talk about it...so be quiet. Well anyway, we tied up to the submarine docks in Groton. We were here for special training class. The whole crew has to re-qualify the Steinke hood. Steinke what? Its was a new underwater escape device. Submarine crew safety during the cold war era, required this training. I had just done this escape training stuff. That was only six months before... right? That was the wrong answer. This sailor, now had to wear a hood with a window in it. No more blowing bubbles. We all yell, ho ho ho! to the surface from the 50 foot level up. This hooded air pocket is connected to the vest. Hey funny, I might have finally broke my out of the water record. The human rocket launch, that's me. The thing is all of us knew unless you sank in the harbor. That no one was swimming to the surface and still survive. The mom's out there didn't need to know that. So here we go, ho ho ho! Up, up and away, the silent service right. Well somebody must have told a mom. The Navy retired the training tank a few years back. The boat stayed in New London for a month doing special operations. This new secret system was the master prairie bubblier surrounded the hull. The hope was to make us invisible to detection. That said, the other navy submarines would try and find us. Then shoot a torpedo at us, “real fun”. These boats were armed with dummy torpedoes but they still could dent your fender. A steam driven slug at twenty one feet long. That weighted over one thousand pounds running at you over forty miles an hour seemed a little excessive. I hoped this blower system really worked. We tried hard to evade these guys. I'm just saying, our boat never took a direct hit. The story was another boat came into port with a dummy torpedo stuck through the sail. It’ll keep you on your toes for sure. Almost fifty years later, I'm telling these stories. I hope the navy has better stuff out there these days. I retired a few pairs of shorts, testing that one out. The day came and the Cubera and crew cruise back to Norfolk. I was a real crew member now tested under fire, so the guys took me out one night. Bell's Bar on the strip, just outside the main gate of the navy base. This was a submariner's hangout. Surface guys need not enter, pig boats only. Standing at this bar was a time honored tradition, fried chicken gizzards and beer. This sailor being only eighteen years old in Virginia meant two percent beer. Sub sailors in here didn't follow many rules like that. The gizzards went down better after about the eighth beer. Smiling like, I had just drank a lot of Ruby Hill. The next day, my head couldn't fit down the hatch. Sub sailors from different boats, we're smiling at the kid from this old diesel boat. Truly fit in with the crew now. This sailor had his sails trimmed that night, just saying. </span><br />
The main Norfolk Navy base had barracks for sub sailors with plenty of hot water showers and bunk beds too, life was good. The D&S docks was where the subs docked were more secure and had another outside gate down the other side of the strip. Tattoo parlors, uniform shops, pool halls and at least ten bars including Bells lined both sides of the street for two blocks. To get from the boat to the barracks meant crossing the red zone. That said, being a new electrician on board. I had stood the equalizer battery charge watch. I was checking specific gravity on both battery banks. This required, one guy, eighteen hours to do this job. It was important that the levels be checked on the hour. The boat was headed back out to sea, the very next day. I had to complete this charge. Yogi was the engine man running the power for this watch. The batteries reached full charge finally the charge was done at 12:39 am. I was beat just crawling on the top of these 120 battery cells . The battery wells with only had about two an a half foot of clearance. It made for a very long day. The problem was the shuttle wasn't running between the two navy bases after midnight. I decided to walk to the barracks. It was only a mile. That said, I put on my pea coat and my dress blue trousers and an a mostly clean white hat. I needed a shower and some sleep. I had to be in dress uniform outside the gates. I was halfway to the main gate in the red zone when the shore patrol stopped me. They were stopping sailors and checking uniform dress code. That may be a problem, this pig boat sailor was out of uniform. Seem they found under the pea coat, I was wearing a filthy dirty dungaree work shirt, that smelled real bad. The patty wagon was my new transport to the brig. The good news was I had my own holding cell anyway. They hadn't processed me yet and the chief in charge called for the pig boat sailor. What the hell? boy. Thank God, this guy was a sub sailor. He had dolphins on to prove it. Slowly I explained myself, holding back tears. The old chief said, who's the officer in charge tonight? The phone call was interesting. Shore Patrol and the chief escorted me back to the sub pier. The officer of the deck holding the ransom, it was two boxes of donuts and Richard's best pie. I was returned, the prisoner boarded the boat. The paperwork was lost and the next morning we were out to sea. I got restricted to the boat for two weeks. The exact same period, we were out. I told Richard, thanks for helping me out. He laughed out loud. Richard and I were almost qualified boat sailors by now. Ten months had passed, on-board this great boat and crew. That all changed on July of 67', my new orders came in. I was transfer to a fast attack nuclear submarine. The same damn boat, I had studied in school. I didn't want to go. Richard, my sea dad got his orders that day too. My sea dad went to another nuclear fast attack on that same day. The crew would really miss him. Richard after all was a damn good cook. The good news, we both were staying in Norfolk. The bad news, I was leaving this rag tag family that had my back. The other "Diesel Submarine" stories not written here will live with me forever. Sly Fox, a wild berry wine and Yogi another time & tale.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-5176782863362346532016-02-12T07:31:00.000-08:002016-03-11T06:28:02.752-08:00Diesel Boat Chapter 5<br />
Diesel Boats Forever was our slogan <br />
I was still wet as I returned to the galley and the crew's area. The galley had been destroyed. Poor Richard, the food was on the walls. The kitchen was tossed. His vision of our first dinner at sea, had turned into a nightmare. The dramatic up and down angles were really felt in this space. Richard had grabbed a metal pitcher of milk before it flew off the table. He was holding it in place. The milk hit the wall. The floor had changed to the aft bulkhead wall. This was sure not an aircraft carrier, he said. The two of us put the space back in order and served cold sandwiches instead. I wasn't very hungry that evening. The torpedo room flooding was epic, try to imagine a pipe open to sea that's 24 foot long and 3 foot in diameter. Then think what kind'a pressure there is at 300 feet down. Now you got a clue about having ten of these sewer pipes on a sub. Thank God, the outer door didn't malfunction too. This crew was amazing. They were all qualified fleet boat sailors and proved it. Each man knew his job, their reaction time was instantaneous. The compartment full of water was balanced by forty guys running to the aft torpedo room to offset the weight of sea water flooding the bow. That said, the seven watertight doors throughout the boat were all shut before the incident was controlled. The bilge pumps were running before I fell out of that bunk. The internal salvage air was pumped into the room to pressurize that space. No fear was shown. These sub sailors were like a well oiled machine working together. That was my crew.... I had a lot more to learn. That next morning, we returned to the docks in Norfolk and the Yard Birds departed. They some how looked even older. This Destroyer and Submarine dock had a tender ship, Orion and many other boats tied there. Just another day at the office, "yeah right!" I was starting to meet the crew and hearing their personal stories. Mess cook was more than dish washing and coffee making, I was a sub sailor too. The galley was my office where all the guys relaxed and shared conversation. These crew men helped me learn my job and theirs. We were a team and family. The Cubera had sixty-six enlisted men and maybe eight to ten officers. This navy submarine was three hundred and nineteen feet long. She had a beam of twenty eight feet. Her displacement submerged was two thousand four hundred tons. The draft on the surface was sixteen feet deep. Surface speed well over eighteen knots. Underwater she made nine knots.Those kind of things, I had to know by heart and a lot more. She was built and launched June of 1945. The systems and operations must be learn by all. That's enough technical stuff. The systems and operations took me ten months to know by heart. The rewards meant longer hours and more responsibility. I was part of something bigger than myself. <br />
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Richard and I studied together and learned every valve in the compartment. The food freezer and chill box, both were walk in units. The canned goods and dry storage lockers. The stove and cleaning station. The equipment running on one of these boats was unbelievable. The toilets on the boat came with a manual, any wrong move was not pretty. The back pressure and poop don't play well together. Just saying, the next few months passed. I got qualifying topside watch. Went from mess cook to engine room bilge rat. My fireman rating was in play, I was training for diesel engine oilier and if you know me that's was real funny. Yogi the throttle man kept me busy. Ragging out the bilge and standing still watches. The making of fresh water was also very important and a really hot job. The engines used most of it and the rest was for coffee. Once a day, we got about eight ounces for personal hi-gene. We had a shower stall that was where the potatoes were stored. The sailor caught using more water than allotted, stood still watch for a couple of days. This was not any fun but great if you wanted to sweat off a few pounds. Life was interesting. They called us “pig boats.” Two weeks at sea, this odor killed your sense of humor and smell. That said, I loved every minute of it. Cleaning bulk crude oil to make purified engine fuel was another terrific job. This sailor turned eighteen at sea. January of 67,' it was a bitter cold season on the Atlantic seaboard. Traveling up the eastern sea coast, the boat was on its way to New York City. I was standing lookout topside. This was fun, some of the time, got to air out my arm pits. This trip not so much. The boat was running on the surface, it was a lot faster than when we were submerged. The storm came out of nowhere. We had to close the upper conning tower hatch onto the bridge. This to keep the water from coming down into the boat. I was dressed in foul weather gear and armed with my coffee cup. I had to climb the ladder into the sail station and bridge area. This sailor was the lookout on the starboard side. The bridge on topside was a three man watch. The officer of the deck and two lookouts stood a two hour shift in place. Standing in this open weather. The watch duty had a real bite this morning. The first wave over the bow turned my hot coffee into a bowl of cold sea water. The sea tried to toss us three men under its force. Hold on! here comes another one, yelled the officer. This holding your breath as the sea passed over, got old quick. See the fact was this submarine had a South Atlantic sail. It wasn't as much fun on the surface, especially in a storm and rough seas. This step sail section was much lower to the deck. We had a plastic half dome bubble but it wasn't quite over us, it was just a windshield not a watertight space. The decision to keep the three of us up there was based on maritime rules. When any submarine was running on the surface, they had to set the watch for cruising. one day and night running on top was quite enough. Captain made the call to submerge the boat. The storms intensity increased, running slower underwater seemed smarter to me. I got my first hot bath and a shot of brandy at sea. These seas even at a hundred feet deep could rock this old boat. We were moving north slower now.. The relentless sea tossed us around. Who knew the bottom of a wave could be as bad as the top of one. The Nor' Easter made a big impression. This was my first East Coast winter. Two fishing trawlers were lost in this storm, a father and son had been reported missing. Dead fishermen were a fact of life on the open seas. These seas were treacherous, this time of year. The first eighteen hours submerged in this storm was the pits. The problem was now the air was getting bad. The submarine needed to snorkel and exchange air. Our skipper was afraid that might be tricky. See the bottom of the boat is full of flood ports, open to the sea. Saddle tanks with air captured at the top making the boat float, if a wave turns you upside down the air runs out. The submarine floats no more . These thirty foot waves could make us a sinker instead of a floater, but having a bad atmosphere is not good either. We had to much CO 2 in the boat. Everyone not on watch was ordered to there bunks. Breathing less air was the plan. Then we lit off the carbon dioxide scrubber cans forward and aft. We started burning the CO 2 off. The air was getting really stale. The boat was submerged twenty-one hours or more. We had to come up soon and that was the captain's orders. The boat is going to the surface, safe or not? Better than trying to snorkel. The boat was at least higher in the water and we could see the waves approach. Bigger balloons make women float better too. This girl had big ones. Back on watch topside, the three of us went up to ride these seas again. The Atlantic ocean eventually calmed. The third day at sea was much better. The boat had fresh air and a better cruising speed. New York City here we come...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-25657746384303767352016-02-12T07:30:00.000-08:002016-03-11T06:28:55.108-08:00Pig Boat Chapter 4<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 22px; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;">
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Pig boat Chapter 4<br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); line-height: 21.3px;">The day had finally arrived; this young sailor had graduated from sub school. I was proud to get my submarine certification. The captain of the base shook my hand. I had made the grade. The navy hadn't beaten me yet as I walked proudly out of that school. Seaman Alley caught the train south to New York City. I wasn't afraid of the future anymore. Now to catch the Greyhound bus; I rode it the rest of the way down. Virginia here I come.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); line-height: 21.3px;"> My orders were to report to the Norfolk's Naval Shipyard. The town of Portsmouth was across the channel. One of the oldest ship repair yards on the East Coast. This place was two hundred and fifty years old and counting. Portsmouth had built "Merrimac" (the iron clad warship) during the civil war. That's where my diesel submarine was berthed. The Cubera was built in 1942. The diesel boat a "guppy- two" class sub was floating on the sea again. The yard had cut her open and removed one engine; that left three others. It was called a soft patch. They had then welded shut the big hole in the pressure hull. This submarine had been in the same dry dock as the Virginia aka Merrimac in the eighteen-sixties. Some of the yard guys looked old enough; they might have worked on that old relic too. This high tech crew seemed unkempt. My crew called them “yard birds.” I had made seaman and was ready for my new assignment. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); line-height: 21.3px;"> That first day of my arrival I walked from the front gate to the old boat yard. This submarine was in the water along a pier, tied up to the work dock. It was early, about <a dir="ltr" href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="color: #0068cf; cursor: pointer; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 21.3px;" target="_blank">ten o'clock</a> in the morning on October 11, 1966. That day, a couple of ambulances were sitting at the dock loading sailors into it. My heart almost stopped. I walked into to the office next to the pier. Seaman Alley reporting for duty, "sir". The office staff looking out the window at the scene unfolding. The Cuberra's captain and the others were real concerned about these guys. They were being taken off the sub, some on stretchers. Things started to settled down; the whole story was eventually told. They had this skeleton crew on-board and they were operating a simulated dive. That meant you close all the deck hatches. The light panel shows all green which means good to go. The crew pretends to submerge. They raised the snorkel mast to take in air and they fire off a single diesel engine. This was a locomotive engine, a big motor with 16 cylinders. The crew was maybe six or eight guys and and duty officer. They simulated charging batteries underway while submerged. The control room cycled the head valve on the snorkel mast. A sub at sea, the waves would regularly cover the snorkel. The air suction to the engine had to be protected. The head valve sensor would shut the airway until the wave had passed over. Then open again allowing air into the engine. The normal sequence was the engine would draw air from outside or inside the boat when the valve was shut. This would cause a vacuum in the boat. The engine had an emergency shut down if the vacuum got too high. The magic number was like six inches. The old pig boat's engine didn't shut down when the head valve failed to open and that was not good. The engine drew almost a perfect, twenty-nine inch vacuum. Like going to twenty-nine thousand feet in a matter of seconds. The engine throttle man passed out over the throttle, shutting this large engine down. The crew's ear drums were bleeding now, some passed out finally the crew recovers. They manage to pump air into the boat with the high pressure air tanks. It took hours to get out of that sub. The boat was sealed like a glass jar. The air inside had to match outside pressure to open the hatches. “Welcome aboard new guy." That was my first day. Just saying, none of this crew had ever been to sea on this diesel submarine. The Cuberra was in the shipyard for over two and a half years. None of the original crew was still on-board. Everything was torn out and put back together. The captain didn't seem to be bothered by this. This seaman was real concerned that after a few weeks we were ready for sea trials. The good news: my old friend, Richard, who had graduated sub school was here. We were now shipmates on-board the same sub. He being my main positive influence on that train ride. This first class cook became my sea dad and mentor. The bad thing was neither of us knew squat about this old boat. The captain, however, was smart and took a few “yard birds” with us out to sea since they verified we were ready. The submarine left port, the engines smoking black exhaust, that's good right? Took awhile to get out to the Atlantic Ocean. It seems not all the engines were ready for the trip. I was happy that my job was making coffee and peeling potatoes; “No Problem.” It was time to dive this smelly old sewer pipe. The soft patch had changed our test depth to three hundred feet or less. I hoped the bubble gum had sealed all the holes.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); line-height: 21.3px;"> The captain put the crew on alert. Everyone was to go to battle stations. Battle station? Hey, the coffee was ready to be served “sir;” not really. I had to leave the galley and report to the forward torpedo room, the damage control party. There was myself and this other guy standing ready in a weapons station. The sub starting its way down, a few sailors were running around. How do you spell, woga, woga dive! dive! My team was suppose to look for problems in a room full of torpedoes. "Hello," what's not a problem, the room is full of torpedoes. Then I see a real issue. I being this steely eyed sub sailor, spotted a leak in the ceiling just above the beds that hung twelve feet off the deck. I said, "chief' there is a leak from that upper hatch." The two torpedo men wink at each other. The chief says, "well sailor, you need to monitor that leak. Take a paper cup and count the drips per second and report." I was on it, feeling important now. I climbed onto the bunk and started counting drips. The submarine groaned as we continued our decent. The old boat was at one hundred feet now. The leak was less. I was still monitoring. The down-angle of this submarine meant that we were still diving. Things got real quiet as we passed two hundred feet. The groaning and creaking was still with us. The captain leveled the submarine at three hundred feet. Test depth achieved. "ahh..shit" was my report, but not out loud. The half full cup was finished, no leaks to report, chief. Little did I know all the hatches in the boat were leaking like that; normal stuff. This crush depth pressure sealed them all. Great. The captain called on all the boat's compartments to report. Things were good. We were operating on batteries now. Silent and smooth, down deep. The boat groans had stopped. This sailor starts to relax a little. After all, I was on a bunk. They called this space the hanging gardens. Two bunks side-to-side under the torpedo room weapons loading hatch. Thirty minutes goes by slowly. The captain says over the intercom, "forward torpedo room fire an air slug....torpedo tube number one." We're still at test depth, “Hello!” The soft patch was still holding. Hell, why not shake this thing up a little. That's exactly what happened. The chief barks, "Open the outer door on tube number one." Then the torpedo man shoots this air slug out the damn thing. The whole boat shakes like there's been an earthquake, “OMG,” guess what? Five more tubes to go; my inside voice... calm be calm. I think it was tube number three, when it happened. Captain says, "Fire air slug, tube number three." The chief says, “Aye aye sir, opening outer door.. firing air slug.... tube number 3." Cold, rushing water blowing everybody on the deck below me down like bowling pins. The whole front of the torpedo room had white seawater coming in hissing and screaming loudly. Yard birds were running out of the compartment. They shut the interior watertight door and dogged it down. Wow! We're trapped in here; now that's real nice... The chief screams, "Flooding in the forward torpedo room" into the headset he's wearing. The boat goes to emergency blow. The sub is trying to get to the surface. The torpedo man fights his way forward through the cold, waist deep seawater and closes the outer tube door. The seawater stops rushing in. That's good, right? We still are very heavy and the boat starts to shudder. Full speed ahead as the three thousand pounds of air is blowing the outside ballast tanks dry. We slowly start back up to the surface. The seamen in the control room are driving, the bow and stern planesmen are steering us upward. Somebody turns the air valve on over the compartment door that's dogged shut. The internal salvage air is sending one hundred twenty-five pounds of air blowing up my pant leg in the overhead bunk. That's it! I come flying out of that rack and hit the deck 10 feet below. The two feet of water on the floor cushioning my fall. Wet, but not hurt, I'm laughing out loud. Luckily the pee in my pants is hidden by the cold saltwater bath. My adventure over? Not hardly. The boat breaking the surface on a dead run, reminds me of clearing the water like that old Victory at Sea shot or me in the escape training tank. Then the submarine starts slipping back. The boat is sliding backwards on the way back down. We have no more air to blow. We slip past three hundred feet. The props are full-speed spinning with no effect. A prayer seems in order. We kept sliding back, stern first, past six hundred feet now. The creaking and groaning of the boat is also back. Finally, Cubera starts to slow and finally stops the descent. Even more slowly, we power our way back to the surface. The boat started snorkeling and running the engines. The boat has to charge everything back up. At least the snorkel head valve was working fine. We can't surface yet, till the compressors charge the air banks back up.. The pumps had ran the bilges dry. Well, its back to Norfolk . This sub sailor was surely "initiated" from that point on; nothing much seems to bother me. A small pirate's laugh, the "Sea Trials" were over. This sailor's blood pressure returns to normal, almost. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); line-height: 21.3px;"> The interior door gasket blew out under the sea's pressure on tube number three. One guy got hurt, but not too bad. We fixed a few other things and were back in the fleet. These sub guys had nerves of steel and being crazy helps too. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-20905064985398430792016-02-09T21:00:00.000-08:002016-03-11T06:30:05.885-08:00Getting Schooled Chapter 3<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 16.8px;">The first week of basic training scared the crap out of me. The Mamas and the Papas came out with “Monday, Monday,” a song that hit the music charts that same week.That tune became my marching anthem, my head shaved, standing tall just like the other guys, I had just turned seventeen. Life showed up in a big way. I won't bore you with these weeks of training but this young recruit was serious. Just saying, “yes sir" to everybody in sight, it was real. I was inoculated for every disease known to man. I took tests and more tests. I had to march everywhere or else. Well, it turns out my IQ was higher than my expectations. Looks like I was volunteering for submarine school. The six other volunteers with me now heading for the East Coast and a place called New London, Connecticut. The rest of my boot camp company headed out to the fleet. The conflict in Vietnam was heating up. The man power was needed. Graduation day in San Diego and who was there? Hell it was my “old man.” The ride back home was good.We were both different than a few months before. Dad laughed and we enjoyed each others company. The two weeks of "Navy Leave" at home was a great. .</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 16.8px;">Read the rest <a href="http://loretocruisersandfishermen.blogspot.mx/p/birthday-story.html" target="_blank">HERE</a> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 16.8px;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-3054447028264044552016-02-09T03:00:00.000-08:002016-03-11T06:29:30.142-08:00Rebel Days... Chapter 2<b>Chapter II, Rebel Days<br /> </b> <br />
Life is on the move, I was just getting out of private school with all that structure, now to attend a regular Junior High. Starting anew, being a ninth grader. My life would be different in public school. My younger sister was enrolled in the same grade with me. We didn't share any of the same classrooms but I told you, she was smart. The Bean and I were ready for more crazy adventures. We added a new friend, " Mac" (another alias, like "Mac the Knife.") He is still a good friend of mine. He showed up at school carrying a chain inside his pant leg. It was a real concealed weapon, we were all afraid of the unknown but this was over kill. His defense against trouble. He moved into my neighborhood from the south side. Mac being a white boy from Ohio and living in a ethnic gangland part of town the move north was good one. He knew how to win an argument. The fact that he was bigger than Bean and I put together helped us feel safer. The three of us became fast friends, we talked him out of carrying weapons to school. The trio all were facing a new learning curve and environment, It just made more sense to stick together. My sister did the homework for all of us. The classes were fairly easy for me, kind of a repeat of my last year in Catholic school. <br />
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Read the rest <a href="http://loretocruisersandfishermen.blogspot.mx/p/birthday-story.html" target="_blank">HERE</a> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-16970512649787173782016-01-31T19:12:00.000-08:002016-03-02T07:17:19.503-08:00Childhood Chapter 1<br />
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1456369358432_3000"><span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9144" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;">The water is a little murky in this part of my life but what the hell...</span><br class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9146" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;" /><br class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9148" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;" /><span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9150" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;">I was conceived in the </span><span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9152" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;">old country. </span><span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9154" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;">After World War II, Germany was left in bad shape. Needless to say, my mother, Maria, was German by birth. My father, Earl, was an American from Arkansas and a corporal with the occupation forces. Their romance was fruitful and the couple made plans. The marriage was performed in a chapel in Frankfurt, mother's hometown. This was the start of the cold war with Russia. Father was a communications expert and he typed secret code. Dad could type one hundred and forty words a minute on a manual typewriter. He spoke German fluently. </span></span></div>
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<span class="yiv3131300478" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;">Dad's tour was over with the US Air Force. We all returned on a ship to New York, that summer of 1948. I had gotten my sea legs early and since I wasn't born yet, that was good.</span><br />
<br class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9158" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;" />
<span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9160" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;">East Coast to West Coast by train, I still hate trains; no leg room. Their arrival in Stockton, California was met by the Alley family to mixed feelings. "War Brides" had gotten a bad reputation in these years after the war. Dad's family of three brothers, five sisters and Grandma were no exception. That said, my parents struggled like young couples do with career and life. Dad was offered a job with his oldest sister's husband, a contractor working on a dam project on the "Feather River Canyon in Northern California. </span></div>
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<span class="yiv3131300478" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;"> Life was tough the winter of 1949, living in a "line cabin." Mom was about to deliver a son. The snow was deep in the meadow, around the work camp. Dad had been shooting squirrels for dinner on that day. The trees surrounding the clearing were dark that late afternoon. Disturbed by the cracking of dead wood along the path. Maria not far up the hill behind the cabin was startled. Hearing this noise and thinking that this wasn't her husband, she froze. The truth was a mountain lion sent my mother scrambling down the path toward home. The screams and hollering got my dad's attention. Earl ran down the hill after her. This excitement put them both on the road to town. The drive got them to the Orville hospital in time. This being my grand entrance to the clan, it took place very early on a <a dir="ltr" href="https://www.blogger.com/null" rel="nofollow" style="background: transparent; color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: underline;">Wednesday morning</a>. I arrived hungry and pissed, Jan. 26, 1949. This was bitter sweet, no pampers and the ward was cold as hell, but, the good news was my parents looked happy to see me.. "A big wildcat got me here", and that seemed only right. </span><span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9162" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;">The next few years were foggy</span><span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9164" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;"> because my sisters showed up. They got more attention, of course, but I would punish them on a regular basis. The family had moved to the San Joaquin Valley where Dad had found employment. Life in Stockton improved our family situation. Mom did some work in the carnival for a while...they would put her in a box and saw her in half. At four years old, this would freak me out a little. Dad drove a taxi. Dad's second job was selling stuffed animals door to door. Squirrels holding a rose were a "top seller." Like I said, Mom, being European </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">was always doing some strange things to us. The problem for me was that on a certain Christmas, a special outfit was presented to me. I was so excited thinking it was a brand new Cub Scout uniform. That wasn't it. Opening the present, in front of the whole family, to my horror appeared this forest green pair of German leather shorts with all the trimmings (Bavarian hat and knee socks). Dad just smiled, he wasn't going to wear it. I was "show and tell" at school for days. Classroom to classroom, they would march me around. Church on Sunday was real special. At least I got to take off the Robin Hood hat with the feather sticking out of it. I would drag my butt, on the sidewalk, on the way home just to wear a hole in the shorts, but I just managed to give the leather a good shine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> Dad and mom got into the insurance business and the family prospered. Childhood was challenging. Roy Rogers and a Masked Bandit were my heroes. My sisters always had to play the Indians. We had some strange pets. I wanted a dog so, we got a monkey. Suzy, the spider monkey, was even more cunning than my sisters. This old circus performer could steal your cookies with her tail using her hands or teeth to distract you. Life was a little scary at our house. Mom would dress Suzy in a pink tutu and walk into Safeway. That was funny except I looked like the organ grinder next to her in my outfit. I'm changing the names of my sisters to protect myself. They were angry little women with pigtails. I love them still. They were younger and made my life interesting. I continued to change from wanting to be cowboy to being a pirate. That would move me into my next phase. Sinbad the Sailor; much better than Popeye, the weirdo. I like spinach, but I still have no tattoos. Growing up Catholic kept my "pirate" subdued and my guilt front and center. The nuns at school had my “curiosity” under control for awhile. My best friend in those days, a German/Italian kid, had the same taste for the female gender. Our problem was they keep you in the dark about that subject way too long. Archie and Jug Head comics were as close as fifth graders had a license to go. The girls in these stories looked "Hot", but the guys always lost interest in the end. I, with this German/Arkansas background was a real skinny kid who wasn't a smooth talker. I relied on "Bean" another name change to keep me safe; he really had the gift of speech.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1456369358432_3078"><br class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9168" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;" /><br class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9170" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;" /><span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9172" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 14.56px;"> He and I did everything together. Our biggest problem was that he was much better at sports and everything else. His Italian shenanigans and my off-center tempo kept life more challenging. The two of us were all about enterprise, we had figured out how to make a buck. Starting a shoeshine business sounded good. We got a red wagon and pulled it around the block offering to shoe shines for fifty cents a pair. Door to door, just like my old man. Bean and I filled the wagon after three blocks. "Wow," now the problem was we didn't want to shine all those shoes. We were bored after the first pair. The wagon was full. Things didn't go too well. We had no names or addresses to match up the shoes. This lack of ambition meant there was no follow through, a stumbling block for sure. Shoes got lost and more Catholic guilt surfaced. Mom had said my first word was "shoe". This was very sad. Someday, I've got to get those old shoes back to their owners. I told you, I was a pirate. School was tough for a “day dreamer.” It never was my strong suit. Summer school really sucked. After classes, the two of us went down to the river. The Bean and I planned our first Sea voyage that summer of 1961. Took us three days to build the wooden raft and launch it. The damn thing broke apart before she hit the water and not for lack of nails. That summer's dream turned out bad. Our friend, Willie, invited us over. His dad's hobby was gun powder and small canon shot, “Pirate Stuff”. Willie's dad was a chemist and would make his own black powder. They, having their own whale harpoon canon, were real cool stuff. They would fire cans of wet sand at the rock on the other side of the water. They lived in a big house on the riverbank. Willie had invited us to come over and watch a new movie with The Three Stooges. His parents were gone, of course. Bean and I showed up that afternoon; our friend was building a serious bomb in his garage using his dad's special stuff. I think we were about thirteen years old. We were pouring black powder into a thread capped pipe and closing one end with a vise. The real dynamite fuse was water proof and a foot long. He wrapped the pipe with electrical tape. Willie said, "Well here you go guys, have fun.... " Years later, the same kid was the head guy of the fireworks display for the city. We headed to the lake in the middle of town, lit the fuse and tossed it into the park lake. Bean and I grabbed onto a tree and waited. You could see the bubbles and smoke as they busted on top of the water. The lake was shallow, maybe ten feet deep. The explosion took a minute or two. The geyser that shot straight up was amazing. The ground shook and a dead carp came floating up to the surface. The whole neighborhood came alive and the cops and the fire trucks showed up. Nobody figured out what had happened. The pirates were long gone. That ended my bomb building days. Junior High had to be better, I had the gangster hairdo down by the ninth grade and was getting girls attention by pouring hot buttered popcorn over their heads at the movies. Well, that sure didn't work out good either.</span><span class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9174"><br class="yiv3131300478" id="yiv3131300478yui_3_16_0_1_1455926096268_9176" /></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930235933525194157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-753233434258884698.post-14671527034170126692016-01-31T15:08:00.002-08:002016-02-12T14:41:17.988-08:00Alley Cat Cruise<b>Sunday was great day to be on the water</b>. My crew enjoyed the cruise as we anchored off the light stand on the south end of Carmen. My brave female crew swam and relaxed on the Alley Cat. The men worked on my fresh water system and got it in working order. Life is good.<br />
Saw a few friends fishing off monkey face rock, but alas no whales spotted.<br />
Thanks to my crew Mike , Eva and Margot.... good snacks too!<br />
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Hand pulling up the anchor in 30 ft. of water with over 100 ft. of chain out, know wonder I miss Ed... my arms hurt for a week.<br />
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