Telephone and other Communication System Tricks

Just reading a blog entry about an airplane waiting at the gate for a tug to hook up and the tug driver to plug into the com system and the flight engineer would flip the mike on and just say, in a disguised voice, “cockpit” and the co-pilot would respond and then get all bent out of shape because the tug driver would not respond. And then the tug driver would get plugged in and call “cockpit” and the co-pilot would go off on the poor hapless soul.

Jogged a memory loose about the skipper heading aft while we were on the surface. As soon as he cleared the water tight door and was past the galley, Freddy Atwood EN1(SS), the auxillaryman, got on the growler and rang Maneuvering. “Maneuvering” said the junior controller. “Skipper’s headed your way” says Atwood. “Naw, just getting a good cup of coffee in the crews dinette. You guys can relax” says the skipper, Roy B. Cowdrey. Ol’ Atwood ’bout shit a brick.

A Marine’s Submarine Crapper Horror Story

Once upon a time, er, I mean now this is no shit, BREAM had a Marine recon platoon on board. We operated with them the old fashioned way with rubber rafts and paddles. Here some Marines are returning to BREAM in 1956 but I don’t have a photo of the launch in which they would inflate their 20 man inflatable on the deck forward of the sail and we would slowly sink submerge from under them. They would paddle their asses off about a mile or so into the beach, play their little games and then paddle their asses off to get back to the rendezvous point in the big old ocean where they hoped like hell we’d be. Anyway, here are the return photos.

The operation I’m talking about took place off the north shore of Oahu in 1959. Before the crapper story, I gotta tell you about the young, brave jarhead who screwed up and pissed off a torpedoman striker. The striker’s name was Kelly. That’s him in the photo of the happy sailor’s in Sasebo below.

When the Marines were getting settled into the forward torpedo room, one of them started mouthing off about the Navy, submarines and sailors. He thought he was so funny. Kelly said the platoon sergeant just kind of rolled his eyes as if telling the sailors to ignore this asshole. (I’ve got a story about some other young Marines and their gunnery sergeant I’ll tell you later.) Anyway, Kelly took some of this crap a bit personally. The next day when we were retrieving the Marines the first time (oh yeah, they had to do it several times a day) ol’ Kelly was holding one of the lines to hold the raft up against the boat. There was more wave action going on than in the photos above. North shore of Oahu, remember? When the brave young loudmouth had one foot raised to start climbing the ladder cut into the superstructure on the side of the boat Kelly looked at him and slacked the line. The kid damn near fell in. He did drop his precious little .45 cal grease gun.

When he got down in the room and the sergeant got through with him, he was damn near in tears. Kelly said it felt soooo good to watch that.

Anyway, to the crapper story. As reported by Arnold, a sonarman who was in the head shaving (yeah, a sonargirl staying neat and clean. And we’d been at sea for oh, I dunno, about 10 hours? Who’d a thunk it?) one of the privates politely said “pardon me. I’ve heard some real horror stories about submarine heads. Will you please explain how it works?” Arnold said “sure. See that long handle on the side of the commode? That’s the flapper. When you get through, pull it up to dump the commode. See those 2 green valve wheels? That’s the salt water flush. Open the outboard first all the way then slowly open the inboard to clean the bowl. When the bowl is clean, close the flapper and when there’s 6 or 8 inches of water, close the inboard valve then the outboard valve. And see that red wheel just above the deck? Do Not touch it. That’s 225# ship’s air. Do not touch it.” At least that’s how Arnold told it.

Arnold said after several minutes he could hear the Marine moving around and bumping into the head door as he was standing up. Arnold said he heard the gurgling, whoosh and “oh shit.” Yep, you guessed it. He opened the ship’s air connection and then the flapper. The Marine got the head door open and Arnold said he had shit stained toilet paper wrapped around his neck and turds hanging off his fatigues. He thought the kid was gonna break down and cry.

It was a good day. Two Marines nearly in tears on the same day.

NTINS

A guy is driving around the back woods of Tennessee and he sees a sign
in front of a broken down shanty-style house: “Talking Dog for Sale”
He rings the bell and the owner appears and tells him the dog is in the
backyard. The guy goes into the back yard and sees a nice looking Labrador
retriever sitting there.

“You talk?” he asks.
“Yep,” the lab replies.

After the guy recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says
“So, what’s your story?”

The Lab looks up and says, “Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA and they had me sworn into the toughest branch of the armed services…the United States Marines. You know one of their nicknames is “The Devil Dogs.”

In no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with
spies and world leaders; because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping.
I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running, but the jetting
around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn’t getting any younger. So, I decided
to settle down. I retired from the Corps (8 dog years is 56 Corps years) and signed
up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals. I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I’m just retired.”

The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog.
“Ten dollars,” the guy says.

“Ten dollars? This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?”

“Because he’s such a bullshitter …. He never did any of that shit. He was in the Navy!”

Stolen from donmac over on Martini’s BBS

Nicknames

Just looking at some of the old photos on my USS BREAM pages. I have names and nicknames for several of the guys. Some are your basic run of the mill nicknames. Chas “Red” Whitemore for instance. William “Bill” Jones. W.G. “Bill” Earl. W.J. “Willie” Williams. We had a cook who was a Phillipino whose name was Pedro something or other. We called him Pete the Flip. Probably couldn’t get away with that today. But hell, that’s what he called himself. But we also had some unique ones, I think.

Ronald “Buddah” Stout, so called because of his round little protruding stomach. And Eugene Joseph “Joe” Blow. Who in their right mind with a surname of Blow would name a boy child Joseph? And there was Gerald “Spook” Elzinga. A Dutchman from Indiana. When asked why he was called Spook, one of the other engineman, a WWII vet named Harry Luce, said it was because he was like a damned ghost. You could never find him when you wanted to. Donald “Beak” Fiasco. Yeah, he had a honker. John Henry “Trigger” or “Homer” Tregoning. “Dirty Dog” Dascombe. And then there were the brothers. The oldest was Charles and I don’t recall the younger’s given name. But their surname was Dick. If I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’. And you know what we called them. Yep, that’s right. “Big” and “Little”.

A Sailor

Sailors come in all shapes, shades, weights, sizes, and states of sobriety, misery, and confusion.
They are sly as a fox, have the nerve of a dope addict, the sincerity of a politician, and the subtly of Mt. Saint Helen.
They are extremely irresistible, totally irrational and completely indestructible.
A sailor is a sailor all his life.
He is a magical creature.
You can kick him out of your house but not out of your heart.
You can take him off your mailing list but not off your mind. Sailors are found everywhere… in love…in battle… in lust… in trouble…in debt…in bars and … behind them.
No one can write so seldom and yet think so much of you.
No one else can get so much enjoyment out of a letter or clean clothes or a six pack.
A sailor is a genius with a deck of cards.
A millionaire without a cent and brave without a grain of sense. He is the PROTECTOR OF AMERICA, with the latest copy of Playboy in his back pocket.
When he wants something it’s usually 30 days leave, music that hurts the ears, a five dollar bill…or a woman he can count on.
Girls love them, mothers tolerate them, fathers brag about them,
the government pays them, the police watch out for them and somehow they all work together.
You can beat their bodies but not their minds. You can tame their hearts but not their souls.
He likes girls, females, women, ladies, and the opposite sex.
He dislikes small checks, working weekends, answering letters, eating chow, waking up, maintaining a uniform, and the day before payday.
You may as well give in.
He is your long distance lover…he is your steely eyed, warm smiling, blank minded, hyperactive, over reacting, curious, passive, talented spontaneous, physically fit, good for nothing bundle of worry…..
And will always be there for you regardless of how long its been since you’ve last talked.
If you are a sailor or just support them, Repost this.

This was posted over on Rontini’s BBS by Doc Gardner. It was sent to him by a Marine. Doc was a FMF corpman who saw the light and became a submarine corpman.

Where Were You

That’s a little game that gets played occasionally over on Martini’s BBS. This latest go round was October 22, 1962. The Cuban missle crisis you know. And I was very concerned even if I was back in Levis instead of Seafarers. I was just about to complete my 6 months probation at Sinclair Petrochemicals in Channelview, Texas. That’s just east of Houston. I started there while it was Texas Butadiene and Chemical Corporation. We got bought by Sinclair. A few years later Sinclair “merged” With Atlantic Richfield which was itself the product of a merger between Atlantic Refining out of Philadelphia and Richfield Oil out of Los Angeles. The plant I was in became part of ARCO Chemical.

After about 6 years of shift work, I started to college. In the mid-70’s, ARCO’s corporate newpaper was a weekly. With job postings. In ‘78 I saw one for an environmental engineer in the ARCO Los Angeles refinery. After 3 years at the refinery, I saw one for a Maintenance Engineer at Four Corners Pipeline Co. One of ARCO’s companies. I celebrated my 20th anniversary with the company shortly after I transfered. About 2 years later, they made me the Control Center manager. We controlled about 1500 miles of pipeline from Long Beach. A couple of years later they sent me to Bakersfield as a District Manager. That was the best job in the corporation. My boss was 135 miles to the south and he thought I could do no wrong. I’d talk to him a couple of times a month. Usually he’d call me. After 3 years in Bakersfield, I transferred to ARCO Pipeline in Shawnee, Oklahoma. 15 months later I was back in Houston and wound up as an operations manager with 2000 miles of pipeline. I retired 2 years later after 30 years 8 months 4 days.

I got the old ARCO 5 and 5 retirement. They added 5 years of age to your real age and 5 years of service to your actual service to determine your retirement benefits. That made me 2 months short of 60 which was full benefits so my benefits were reduced about 1%. BFD. Plus I got 40 weeks walking money plus a one year contract to complete a project we were doing.

And now I’ve been enjoying retirement for 14 years 5 months. I’ve drawn a pension check for nearly half as long as I drew a paycheck. And it’s great. My goal is to live long enough to say I drew a pension check longer than I drew a paycheck. Neat, huh?

These Guys Remind Me of Us

And by us, I mean submarine sailors. A couple of days before payday.

Why I wanted a Boat in Pearl Harbor

U.S. Navy Sailors board the fast attack submarine USS Louisville (SSN 724) moored to the pier at Naval Submarine Base New London in Groton, Conn, Feb. 2, 2007. (U.S. Navy photo by John Narewski) (Released) (Released to Public)

I reported to SubSchool during the first week of April. Sometime in early April it snowed. See the snow on the mooring lines, dock, boat, etc? I do not like snow. I never liked snow. Even as a kid in North Texas the few times we had snow I was unhappy. Anyway, it snowed in New London during April, 1957. When it came time to fill in our “dream sheets” we had 4 choices. New London, Norfolk, Key West or SubPac (if you got SubPac, they assigned you to a boat in San Diego or Pearl Harbor). We had 3 choices. My choices were:

1. SubPac
2. SubPac
3. SubPac

I knew I didn’t want New London because of the weather. And some of the guys told me Norfolk was not a great place. I thought Key West would be okay but I was afraid if I put down Key West somebody somewhere filling billets might think I would like anywhere on the East Coast. Well, I guess whoever processed my “dream sheet” figured I wanted the Pacific side so they put me out in the middle of it on USS BREAM SSK243, home ported in Pearl Harbor. I was one happy sailor when I read those orders, I’ll tell you.

My Bad, Bad Sunburn

Wonder if this is when the basal cell I just had carved off my nose started? Dunno, coulda been. Here’s what happened. The BREAM returned to Pearl from 6 months in WesPac in September, 1959. Now, you other boat sailors know a snipe doesn’t get a whole lot of sun on a 6 months WesPac cruise. At sea, I only went up on the bridge about 0430 hours (that’s 4:30 am to you civilians) after I got off the mid watch and had a snack. Tried to avoid the daylight as much as possible. Anyway, we were a whole lot of pale.

Well, Saturday of the first weekend we were back in Pearl, a bunch of us were sitting around the pool in front of the barracks. Now, having burned a bit as a kid, I knew I was susceptible to sunburn so I figured I’d watch me real close. After more than an hour in the sun I was still pale but knew I better get inside. I went in the barracks to take a shower. While I was in the shower, I turned red. I have never before nor since been that red. Drying off with a Navy issue towel was a real treat. And then I had to put on my clean, starched dungarees.

It was about time for the evening meal so several of us headed down to the boat. Going down the After Battery Hatch was no treat, I’ll guarantee you. And naturally, we were about 30 minutes early. Since I had duty the next day I went forward to the Control Room to see if the watch bill was posted yet. Hoo boy, that water tight door was fun. Wouldn’t you know it? I had the best watch of the day, the 0800 X 1200. About 15 hours in the future and I was hurting enough to know that wasn’t gonna work. I found the guy who was scheduled for the 0400 X 0800 Monday morning and swapped with him. That would give me nearly 36 hours before I had to do anything. I decided I just needed to get in my rack, to hell with eating. My bunk was in the After Torpedo Room so I headed aft. Three more water tight doors. Oh joy.

The Saturday duty section had just secured a battery charge about 30 minutes before I got to the boat so the After Engine Room was still hot. I’m talking 125° to 130° F. Now it only takes a minute or 2 to get through the After Engine Room but believe you me it was a miserable minute.

I got back to the After Torpedo Room and pulled my rack out. It was the forward upper skid rack on the port side for you old DBF sailors. For you that never had the pleasure just know it was one of the best racks on a boat. More on that later. Anyway, I pulled it out, rolled the flash cover back and pointed the 2 or 3 fans in the overhead at it. I stripped to my skivvies and climbed gingerly in. I only got up for head calls and if you’ve never seen the head in the Maneuvering Room, you have no idea of how miserable I was.

Well, I made it till the 4 X 8 watch Monday morning. I was still kinda sore but A lot better than I would have been on the 8 X 12 Sunday, that’s for sure. And I never, ever sat out by the pool again. Beamon’s Center for me. For you civilians, that was the EM club on Sub Base.

Did I Tell You About The Time…..

I helped the cook make chili? Well, I did. I had the duty one Sunday while we were in Pearl. Nothing much going on during the day. I had no watch to stand because we had a battery charge scheduled for that night because we were going out for a week or so the next day.

Well, Vern Engstrom CS1 had the duty. He was the cook from Ft. Worth I told you about below. I started on him right after breakfast about the chili that was on the menu for the evening meal. See, being from Texas the Navy version of chili left a bit to be desired. Well, I finally talked Vern into making some down home style Texas Red. Man it was good. It was so good, only 4 of us could eat it. Vern, Al Packard (from Wisconson of all places), Clyde Mack (my coon-ass oiler) and me. You’d break a sweat just filling your bowl. Really needed a couple of long necks to go with it but what the hell.

The next morning after Quarters the Engineering Officer caught me just before I dropped down the After Engine Room Hatch. He said, with a bit of a grin on his face, “Howard, I just cut a deal with the Supply Officer. He won’t let his cooks overhaul my engines and my enginemen won’t cook. Got it?” To which I replied, as taught by Chatham BM1 in boot camp, “aye, aye, sir.”