TMI Thursday - Mile High Club - Kinda

Today is TMI Thursday and I have been told I have to link to Lilu’s Live It Love It site. I guess this does it. If not, bite me.

I told someone, maybe Mala over at Mixed Nutswho suggested I post something on TMI Thursday. I believe she mentioned , or I did, about being in the mile high club. I don’t know if I am or not. I did get a blow job on a flight, but not laid. Does that earn me my wings?

Back in my Navy days I met this very sweet girl at the skating rink and fell deeply in lust with her. But she lived in San Francisco, and I was stationed in Long Beach, 400 miles away. So I saved up a few dollars and flew up to see her. I was 18 and she had just started her senior year in high school at 17. It was a sweet weekend. Momma like a hawk, little dove cooing every chance she got. Innocent, but fun.

On the flight back this older lady (older as in her 30’s or 40’s - which is ancient to an 18 year old hormone) was sitting next to me - isle seat - I was trapped - thank God. Anycum, she started talking to me, telling me how she loved a man (HAHAHAHA) in uniform, and asking did I have a wife or girlfriend. She asked me if I wanted to have a little fun? It was nighttime, the flight was an hour and some change long, but we had time. She got a blanket and covered both of us. Then she started rubbing me. Almost lost it right then. Almost! I didn’t because she stopped rubbing and started unbuttoning the 13 buttons on the flap of my uniform. Navy sure knows how to dress a guy to aid in getting a hand/blow job.

Anybobbing, she went down on me. Holy Hoover, she knew what she was doing. Me, I was scared to death. I couldn’t be cool because my head was swiveling like the girl in the Exorcist looking for anyone who might see us or the stewardess (what they were called back then) walking by . But soon it got to where I didn’t care if I was on a stage in New York. And she set up and actually licked her lips.

About three minutes later we touched down (I had already scored a TD by then) and we rolled to a stop. She said, “Thanks for a great flight and have a good career.” and was gone. GONE! I had to button up my own flap - under the blanket. Bitch!

Anysmile, did I earn my wings? Do I have to put the craft in the hanger before it counts? I have wondered all these years.

I did get laid on a Greyhound bus, but you don’t get a ticket punched for that. Maybe I’ll tell you about that one next week.

Unless you want me to tell you about it today...
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Old Salts of the Navy...

(The painting is of my ship, USS Frank E. Evans DD754, heading to her last assignment - and death)

For years I have been trying to come up with the words that explains my experience in the Navy. Then, today, I get this email from my friend and former shipmate, Chuck. This is so dead on that I had to post it. I also found a passage from Psalms in the bible that adds somehting to this post. It is at the bottom.

Old Salts of The Navy. . . . . . . .

I liked standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with salt spray in my face and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four quarters of the globe - the ship beneath me feeling like a living thing as her engines drove her swiftly through the sea.

I liked the sounds of the Navy - the piercing trill of the boatswains pipe, the syncopated clangor of the ship's bell on the quarterdeck, the harsh squawk of the 1MC, and the strong language and laughter of sailors at work. I liked Navy vessels - nervous darting destroyers, plodding fleet auxiliaries and amphibs, sleek submarines and steady solid aircraft carriers.

I liked the proud names of Navy ships: Midway, Lexington, Saratoga, Coral Sea, Antietam , Valley Forge - memorials of great battles won and tribulations overcome. I liked the lean angular names of Navy "tin-cans" and "escorts" - Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy, Damato, Leftwich, Mills, Vance, Evans and the Manley - mementos of heroes who went before us. And the others - San Jose, San Diego, Atlanta, Los Angeles, St. Paul, Chicago - named for our cities.

I liked the tempo of a Navy band blaring through the topside speakers as we pulled away from the oiler after refueling at sea. I liked liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port. I even liked the never-ending paperwork and all-hands working parties as my ship filled herself with the multitude of supplies, both mundane and to cut ties to the land and carry out her mission anywhere on the globe where there was water to float her.

I liked sailors, officers and enlisted men from all parts of the land; farms of the Midwest, small towns of New England, from the cities, the mountains and the prairies, from all walks of life. I trusted and depended on them as they trusted and depended on me - for professional competence, for comradeship, for strength and courage. In a word, they were "shipmates"; then and forever.

I liked the surge of adventure in my heart, when the word was passed: "Now set the special sea and anchor detail - all hands to quarters for leaving port," and I liked the infectious thrill of sighting home again, with the waving hands of welcome from family and friends waiting pier side. The work was hard and dangerous; the going rough at times; the parting from loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the "all for one and one for all" philosophy of the sea was ever present.

I liked the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's work, as flying fish flitted across the wave tops and sunset gave way to night. I liked the feel of the Navy in darkness - the masthead and range lights, the red and green navigation lights and stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence of radar repeaters - they cut through the dusk and joined with the mirror of stars overhead.

I liked drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises large and small that told me that my ship was alive and well, and that my shipmates on watch would keep me safe. I liked quiet mid-watches with the aroma of strong coffee - the life-blood of the Navy - permeating everywhere.

I liked hectic watches when the exacting minuet of haze-gray shapes racing at flank speed kept all hands on a razor edge of alertness. I liked the sudden electricity of "General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations," followed by the hurried clamor of running feet on ladders and the resounding thump of water-tight doors as the ship transformed herself in a few brief seconds from a peaceful workplace to a weapon of war - ready for anything. And I liked the sight of space-age equipment manned by youngsters clad in dungarees and sound-powered phones that their grandfathers would still recognize.

I liked the traditions of the Navy and the men and women who made them. I liked the proud names of Navy heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut, John Paul Jones and Burke. A sailor could find much in the Navy: comrades-in-arms, pride in self and country, mastery of the seaman's trade. An adolescent could find adulthood.

In years to come, when sailors are home from the sea they will still remember with fondness and respect the ocean in all its moods - the impossible shimmering mirror calm and the storm-tossed green water surging over the bow. And then there will come again a faint whiff of stack gas, a faint echo of engine and rudder orders, a vision of the bright bunting of signal flags snapping at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty laughter in the wardroom and chief's quarters and mess decks.

Gone ashore for good they will grow wistful about their Navy days, when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was ever over the horizon. Remembering this, they will stand taller and say, "I WAS A SAILOR ONCE AND WOULD DO IT AGAIN."

Psalms 107:23-30
"Those who go down to the sea in ships, who do business on great waters, they see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. For He commands and raises the stormy wind, which lifts up the waves of the sea. They mount up to the heavens, they go down again to the depths; their soul melts because of trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits' end. Then they cry out to the Lord in their trouble, and He brings them out of their distresses. He calms the storm, so that its waves are still. Then they are glad because they are quiet; so He guides them to their desired haven."

DST Ends Tonight

The time rolls back one hour tonight. This means an extra hour of sleep for those who observe the Daylight Savings Time rule each year. Not every state observes this practice, though. Arizona and Hawaii are the only two states who do not, and stay on ‘Standard Time‘ all year.

I find it strange how some people are effected by just one hour adjustment in time either way. I often wonder if this change in the body clock is actually a physical thing or psychological. I tend to think it is a combination of both.

As for me, I only get around three to five hours sleep a night (but cat-nap during the day) and my body is not controlled by a strict regiment or routine. So when the time changes, it means nothing to me. Except for one time.

During my boot-camp training at the US Naval Training Center San Diego (Co. 537, 1962), there is a week called ‘Service Week.’ During the forth week of training each company has to perform services for the rest of the boot-camp trainees. My company (except me) had to pull service in the chow-hall. This meant that we had to get up 4:00 A.M. to get to the chow hall to prepare for breakfast, wash pots and pans and clean up afterward, take a small break and start up again for the noon meal and again for the dinner meal, finishing up around 8:00 P.M.

Then you had to go back to the barracks and wash clothes and hang them out to dry overnight (hoping it didn’t rain.) This meant that lights-out was at 10:00 P.M. and those who were behind had to work in the dark, stand watch, or pass out form exhaustion only to be awaken at 4:00 A.M.

I said the this was my companies life that week but not me. I was given the assignment of being a messenger for the Master at Arms in the Admin Building. I delivered messages and packages all over the base on a bicycle, and I had to march the men in the brig over for meals (not a fun thing.) But much of the time was spent in the office of the Master at Arms reading books on Naval History and other military related stuff. But I still had to wake up with the company and do all the A.M. chores required by each company like cleaning the showers and the head (Navy term for shitter - uh - bathroom) and sweeping and swabbing (mopping) the barracks. This fell on me as I didn’t have to report to the Adman Building until 8:00 A.M.

But that October Saturday night of week 4 was the fall changing of the time and everyone got an extra hour sleep.

It was amazing how much happier and rested we felt with that one extra hour sleep. And it was Sunday morning and the last day of service week. It was like Christmas morning. The guys were laughing and joking around while the Shit, Shower and Shaving was going on. Even the recruits coming in for the meals seemed happier. And we kept telling each other that it was the extra hour sleep that made the difference. Did it? Or did we just think it did? Don’t know for sure.

So I guess it does play in physically as well as mentally how the time change effects us (uh, y’all.) How does it effect you?

But more important, don’t forget to change your clocks back tonight, no matter if you are in boot-camp or not.

Life At Sea

I was watching an old movie about the US Navy and life at sea. It is amazing how they depict life on a Navy ship. And for you landlubbers (except for a submarine) they are called SHIPS. A submarine is called a boat from tradition. Anyway, I watch the movie and noticed that everyone walked normal. No one swayed, staggered or held on to object as they move around the ship. Coffee cups were laid on the tables and desk without support. Curtains (on a Navy ship?!?) did not swing to and fro. The only time I ever saw conditions like that was when we were in dry docks.

There are two things that are constant on a ship; movement and noise. Even on a calm day, which is rare, the ship is still moving up and down and left to right. With three foot swells you are walking up hill leaning to the right then down hill leaning to the left. During a storm or typhoon (especially a typhoon) a wise seaman will go from uncomfortable to petrified in a matter of seconds. The ship I was on (USS Frank E. Evans DD754) could take a 45 degree roll and still recover, but if a wave hit her again while at this angle, she could role on over. Many have. So, as a cocky 18 year old, I see a man with many years of sea experience turn white and swallow hard, it is pretty obvious that I should be concerned. But those were the extremes.

On normal sea duty you eat, sleep, work and relax on constant noise and movement. You learn to eat with one hand while holding the food tray with the other hand trying to keep it level. You stand with you legs spread wide and knees slightly bent to absorb the jolts and swings. If for some reason you wake up and it is totally quiet, you don’t ask what’s going on. You get your butt topside and on the main deck as soon as you can. If everything is okay, you can go back for your clothes later. If not, then you have a better chance of survival than being trapped blow deck (like 74 sailors, one my friend, did when the Evans was cut in half in 69’ and the front half went down in under three minuets.)

Despite the danger and all, it was still a pretty good life. There’s danger in everything we do, so you don’t dwell on that aspect. So the next time you watch a movie about the Navy, remember it’s just a movie. If you want to know what it is really like, talk to a sailor (and thank him/her for serving while we slept safe and comfortable.)

As the saying goes, "If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you can read this in English, thank a vet."