J. Dillon, 11 years on a 27 footer, WOW!!!

[Fodder Wing]

Here's to over 1000 posts :cheers

Point me to the BS thread. Have much to say but don't want to cog this one up :lol

Got a break from my Dad today to spend time with my youngest girl. Paddled the Weeki Wachee.

There's no doubt in my mind that you would love it and I do have a camp that is welocme to all here as well.

In the process of acquiring my first sailing vessel. Can't decide whether I want something that I can sail across the Gulf with or something for just sailing around the horn/KW :lol

[J. Dillon]

We recruits were again divided and led outdoors. Those burnt out looking structures seemed to hover in the back ground, brooding, eager to engulf us. They even had a menacing smell in a now windless air. Our attention was captured by a voice. It had a high pitch. A shaving nick on his left cheek caught my eye.

"This is the Navy’s Oxygen Breathing Apparatus model A-1." He paused.
"With proper use it will save your life." As if the device had magical properties.



US Navy OBA circa 1948

His faded dungarees were starched and sported a crisp press much like dress uniforms They almost looked clinical, like he wanted to convey a feeling of operating room sterileness. But that nick betrayed any surgical exactness. Perhaps his flawless uniform was by chance rather than design, I thought. It appeared in sharp contrast to the gloomy buildings nearby. His voice had no feeling of command, or even authority. He knew full well the seriousness of the topic would hold our full attention as we were soon to be wearing a Navy A-1 OBA

I looked intently at the rather clumsy looking apparatus while our unnamed instructor pointed out its features. My dad’s WWI gas mask looked more compact. Eventually, he gathered us into small groups to give more personal instruction.


Our Instructor telling just how it works

"All right ! You men form up over here."

That growl was a far contrast from the tone we had been hearing. It came from a character emerging from the burnt out training structure. He was all decked out in foul weather gear head to toe and looked like Spencer Tracy in the movie "Captains Courageous". He removed his hat to give a face and personality to his garb.
The same foul weather gear hung in racks near by.
We were getting closer to our moment of truth.

"OK men, grab a set and put em on. Ya won’t look beautiful but ya might keep dry."

There was mirth in that voice and its owner seemed to enjoy the recruit fire fighters’ tepidness as we donned our gear. It reeked of burnt smells. Oily soot was impregnated to its very core. It immediately soiled our clean dungarees. This rain gear was the only Navy property I’d seen that enjoyed sanctioned grunginess..

We were then moved to an area I hadn’t seen before. It was behind the burnt out training building. I saw a low tank like structure. Not far away was the same gear I had seen in the training room. The All Purpose Nozzles with applicators had already been run out. Things were now happening fast.



The Three Position Nozzle

I started to sweat, and by the looks of recruit Kunes... so did he. Finnigan disappeared into his gear and except for his inherent awkwardness was almost unrecognizable. We assembled in sight of our Tracy like instructor who supervised us as we struggled with the OBA. He went through a long list of do’s and don’ts regarding the OBA. The one that sunk in my anxious mind was: don’t go into the fire until the canister is warm. Sh*t, how warm? I felt it hard to breathe Potter came by his mask off. He squeezed both hoses from my mask and told me to breathe deeply. I could barely hear him as he manipulated the starter valve. I felt a calm seeping into my brain as the OBA started to do its thing but I was still apprehensive.

"OK men, we’re going to go into a class B fire. When moving in, set your All Purpose Nozzle into the fog position. The applicator is
already inserted.

I could feel my heart pound a bit louder and wondered if others could hear it. Cloudiness now moved in, hiding the sun and giving a sense of gloom befitting the whole area. My masked face intensified the darkness. Wind now stirred things, evaporating my sweat just a bit.

"Good,"cried Spencer Tracy. "We’re going to attack our first fire from leeward. Ya might have to do that aboard your burning ship. Your OBA’s will stop ya from eating smoke."

I could see a man approaching the tank from the windward side. In an instant it was ablaze. Thick smoke rose, almost horizontal, heading for us. I could feel the heat. Flames brightened the dirty conflagration. Potter moved up to be first on the hose. I was right behind him. His confidence trickled to me and to Kunes and Finnegan behind me.

"Move up and turn your hoses on."



We recruits fight more fires

The faceless voice came from somewhere as Potter led us off into the inferno. My cannister was hot and so was I. I could feel the hose pressure up as Potter dragged us forward into the blackness. The hose moved back and forth as Potter directed the applicator over the tank. In a few minutes the fire was out, gone, and so was the smoke. I could hardly believe it and felt a sense of victory. I don’t know if it was due to conquering my own fear or the fire being defeated.
　
　

Recruits attacking an compartment fire



In we go hopeing it's contained

The rest of the day was spent tackling other fires in the ship like structures using other applications of the All Purpose Nozzle. I even took the lead with a nudge from Potter. Kunes even looked better as though a dread had been met and whipped. Finnegan was still the same like it was just another day of recruit training.

Company 256 now marched back to our barracks. We brandished our smuged faces and scroungy dungarees with pride as other companies before us had done. We were now veterans of the fire fighting school and envied by junior companies. Kunes looked much better. He wore a sense of relief on his face, but I wondered what had been bugging him before. I determined to find out, maybe later over a beer as our second liberty was soon coming up.

To be continued

JD
　
　

　
　

[Figment]

Hey jack, just chiming in to say a quick thanks for the saga!

[Garret]

Yes indeed - it's always a treat to see a new installment appear!

[AJZimm]

Thanks Jack.

Brings back memories of my own encounter with firefighting school at CFB Esquimalt 37 years ago. Not a lot had changed by the sound of it except our oxygen breathing apparatus was more modern.
The scariest exercise for me was entering a 2 story structure from the top deck above and having to feel our way down 2 ladders, being completely blinded by the smoke, find our way across a corridor, open the door and put the fire out in the compartment. There was one guy who couldn't bring himself to do it and that was the end of his Navy career.

[J. Dillon]

AJZimm and other viewing this thread. Watch this video of the USS Forrestal disaster.:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PL57b4P0P5M

I think the US Navy has learned it's lesson. Today the training is better with many refresher courses to stay current.

Even at the time I received fire fighting training. I knew it was inadaquate.

JD

[J. Dillon]

Just before taps I re scanned the Plan of the Day. I saw my name.

O4:00 to 06:00 Rear door security watch..................... Dillon

Another interrupted sleep night, I thought, but once we leave boot camp four hour watches are the norm. I’ll adapt just like everyone else here.

03:55. Kunes handed me the guard belt. Its awkward clipboard dangled from it. Most of us by now had memorized the eleven general orders of a sentry but just as a reminder that board had them plastered across its face. It was the brainstorm of our zealous Company Clerk making brownie points.

A lowering moon silhouetted our wash racks and clothes line to the west. My post wouldn’t enjoy a rising sun. Even casual conversation would be restricted to the roving patrol or perhaps a Chief checking up on the alertness of watch standers. A time for reflection would fill out the dawn for this recruit... Kunes’ sense of relief came to mind but there was no opportunity to coax an answer, he was off to sleep.

A kind of skirmish had broken out just before taps the evening before. There was a demerit system since day one of recruit training. Individuals could rack up some demerits to the detriment of the entire company. A sort of "code" existed for fellow boots to straighten out those that excessively lowered the company’s standing. Any group has bullies ready and primed to exercise this practice. Company 256 was no different. A few ganged up on "Moe", a lower deck recruit’s nickname whose bearing would bring to mind a three stooges character. He valiantly fought off several recruits led by Chuck wielding a kayak brush scrubbing Moe while in the shower. Boyd broke it up, but the look in Moe’s eye suggested the incident wasn’t over.

What’s next after boot camp? I had put in for Aviation Mechanic A school, something that was promised upon producing my high school diploma when first enlisting. But as the recruiter hinted:

"There’s no guarantee. The Navy does what’s best for the Navy".

Kunes wanted Electrician A school, as his father worked at that trade. Finnigan pinned for a Fleet billet and see the world. All recruiting posters promised that broadening experience. Potter was strong for something medical. I guess he saw some burn victims in his short time as a volunteer fire fighter. I wondered where Our recruit Company Commander Boyd would go. We learned he had been in construction and was maybe destined for the Sea Bees.
The time went by. A hint of daylight. Things stirred. I sensed chow smells in the air, or was it just my stomach hoping for a refill. The light grew stronger. Suddenly long shadows formed. The moon was gone, the sun was up, and as if heralding the sunrise, a steam locomotive voiced its haunting whistle. It chugged by dragging rusty freight cars with fading logos on the way south to Chicago. Hey! That’s a liberty port in our future. Potter had learned of places to go when there. His ex-Navy brother was in touch by letters.

My body felt a nudge. It broke into my mind. It was Finnigan. I glanced at my watch: 05:55. He looked sleepy but I was glad to see him.

"OK, Jack, I’ll take over."

Off came the guard belt. The sound of reveille blared over Camp Moffett, Great Lakes, Il., US Navy Recruit Training Center. Another day of boot camp had just started.

The morning chow lines seemed longer. As we recruits inched ahead. Conversation varied but where we going after graduation dominated our chatter. It was still two weeks away; another review and competition for the Regimental Rooster still lay ahead. Of course a week’s leave back home also lay in our future. There we could show off our uniforms to friends and family. I looked around at my fellow recruits - most were from Company 256. By this time our dungarees had faded some. We had a certain saltiness with a bit of style in our white hats, both of which distinguished us from newer companies.



07:00. Back in the barracks we prepared for the usual morning inspections by Chief Williams. He was getting more particular and fussy. The Company’s reputation had grown and I think so had bets amongst the various Company Commander Chiefs. I was top side making up my bunk, and so were my roommates. A commotion on the lower deck caught our attention. It was different from the usual clamor. In fact, it had all the sounds of cheering at a fight. Down we descended, edging in amongst yelling recruits to get an eyeful. Moe was well embroiled with Chuck. Both were now entangled in wrestling holds. It was easy to see Moe had the advantage when he applied a full Nelson to his once bullying opponent. The cheering got louder with Boyd vainly trying to stop it but Moe wanted full vengeance and rammed Chuck’s head into the bulkhead. Well, it opened up like a piece of cardboard. Just then, above the din,



"Knock it off,and, even louder, a second "Knock it off!!"



To be continued

JD
　

[RHarris]

Jack,
My first post. What an incredible tale! I've been quietly following this for the past couple years and just had to give you two thumbs up. Telling your boot camp story brings back memories. I went through in 85, very different but still quite similar. I also did my last tour as an RDC (new name for a Company Commander) before retiring in 07. Let's hear more!

[J. Dillon]

Welcome aboard CPO Harris (USN ret) Thank you for 22 years of service to our country. I'm happy you found this place and enjoyed this thread. Your last tour as recruit Company Commander must have been interesting to compare recruits and methodology today with those of my vintage.

JD

[J. Dillon]

09:00 It was hotter than usual. We boots sweated heavily as we drilled. It was more intense as Chief Williams ran us through our complete repertoire of rifle exercises, the manual of arms, forward march, to the rear march, left flank, right flank, etc. All the time that glaring Michigan sun hammered down on our submissive company. The incident of a few hours ago was still upper most in our minds, but our bodies were completely in tune with the Chief’s drilling. We had had no opportunity to discuss the fight and aftermath and any hint of whispering was quickly squelched by a still pissed off Chief who was obviously venting on Company 256. Apparently, Boyd assured our Chief nobody really got hurt and it was an easy repair. My opinion of Boyd was gradually changing for the better. He knew when to speak up, always assigned himself watches, even mid ones.

"To the rear ...march!" barked Chief Williams, jolting me into reality for the moment.

This abrupt command and the smell of my leather rifle sling still couldn’t subdue my mind’s wanderings. I recalled Boyd’s words speaking to Chief Williams:

"Yes, Chief, it’s only wooden 2"x3" studs a couple of feet apart. That 3/8" sheet-rock busts easily."

Yeah, I thought, especially when Moe rammed Chuck’s hard head into it.
Boyd had spoken with confidence. Like he knew what he was talking about. I guess he really did come from some construction experience. That busted wall was only a flimsy partition dividing what once was "Wave" barracks , to what Company 256 now called home.

"Company..... Halt!!...Attention! ... Parade!... Rest!" cried Chief Williams. Down came our rifles silently touching the ground. My whole being was sweating. Beads gathered and dribbled down the faces of every recruit including me. The once angry redness of our Chief’s countenance had now assumed a sweaty look. All eyes followed him closely as he paced in front of the company. Not a breeze stirred to intrude into a Navy Chief composing his thoughts. At last he spoke but... in a fatherly tone.

"This Company has come a long way. You have the ability to win the Regimental Rooster in the review scheduled next Saturday. There will be liberty the following Sunday."

The Chief took in a deep breath. I thought the fight this morning was to be the subject but he surprised me.

"It’s time for you recruits to really hit your "The Blue Jackets Manual" and review what you have learned here at Great lakes. There will be a written examination. If you pass you will be promoted to Seaman Apprentice with a raise in pay." If you don’t you will be assigned to another company to continue with some aspects of recruit training you show weakness in."

We all had expected a chewing out but the drilling seemed to have erased that from our Chief’s mind. Or, perhaps Boyd’s words had diminished the gravity of our barracks busted sheet rock.

A smile came across the Chiefs weathered face.
"I have been informed that Gunner’s mate Kinter has been promoted to Chief and will be transferred to a fleet billet."

That hit me hard as I had become fond of him as he mixed readily with us boots, just like a big brother. But... Kinter had moved up in rank. Good for him. Looking more serious our Company Commander continued.

" At this time Chief Ellis will be CPO Kinter’s replacement."

It seemed like he came from nowhere, this bedraggled looking character posing in a Chief’s uniform. It draped like a rag from his twisted body. I was shocked as "it" moved next to Williams. Where did the Navy get him from? "It" even spoke, his voice echoing his appearance.




"I’m most happy to be assigned as Assistant Company Commander."

There was a pause... a bit too long as if he expected applause. Maybe he read the shocked appearance of the recruits in front of him. Williams sensed the awkwardness of the moment and gave us some good news.

"Chief Petty Officer Kinter will be stopping by to say goodbye to the Company later today."
"The rest of this morning you will be getting some booster shots. After chow, assemble here in your dress blues. The US Navy will be having them altered to better fit you. "

Chief Williams paused once again like he was weighing carefully what to say next. I expected some comment about the fight and busted government property. The sun hovered overhead. Sweat soaked into our faded dungarees. Our company was still at parade rest. Nary a breeze stirred the stagnant air that smelled like a locker room. In the distance I could hear other companies drilling on the grinder. All eyes focused on the pair of Chiefs in front of us, one a shining example of what a US Navy Chief should look like, and the other still to prove his mettle.

"Company....... Attention!!" barked Williams.

We snapped out of our stupor and came to attention.
Williams turned to Ellis.

" March the men off to the infirmary."


To be continued.

JD
　
　
　
　
　
　

[J. Dillon]

It was typical, a line for everything. That’s the Navy way. This time we knew what to expect, having been on the receiving end for shots weeks before.



New recruit getting some shot, now routine for company 256

The newly arrived boots just ahead of us looked nervous, awkward in their just issued dungarees that still reeked of foul textile mill odors. So unlike we seasoned salts in faded work uniforms that possessed a freshly aired scent. A few from Company 256 taunted the newer recruits about forked needles to be pricked in embarrassing places. But a chance to discuss the morning’s commotion dominated the chatter. Most of us agreed that Chuck had it coming. He threw his weight around a little too much and his cronies bolstered his ego. The line moved up, we rolled up our sleeves, got the shots and assembled outside. Boyd was there calling us to fall in. His voice seemed a bit different, sort of more confident as issuing commands had become more routine for him .... or was my assessment of him changing?

"Company, attention."

It was Chief Ellis still looking droopy with a voice that matched. I tried to focus on the CPO’s insignia that adorned his hat, remembering what we were told the first week of boot camp. How it’s the rank, not the person, who commands respect. It was difficult as the sad sack appearance muddled my thinking. It appeared, most of the Company shared my dilemma.

"Forward to the right turn ... march."

Company 256 stepped out. Chief Ellis called cadence like it was a long ago event in his life. Boyd was on the opposite side and to the rear of the Company. Sensing that Ellis’ voice wasn’t carrying too well Boyd picked up the cadence to kind of boost our droopy Chief’s lack of volume. The mess hall and relief from our lusterless Assistant Company Commander loomed ahead.
We arrived.

"Company... halt .. fall out" .....

whispered Ellis. That command was easily heard as our senses were now alert for anything hinting of filling our growling empty stomachs. Now we had almost an hour to discuss the still evolving events of the morning.
Finnigan swung his legs over the bench and noisily plopped his chow tray on the mess table. Potter slid in alongside and I was next. Kunes sat across from our trio like he had something to say to all of us. Finnegan dug into the chili con carne with gusto. Conversation wasn’t on his mind. Mine neither, at least for the moment, but Kunes opened up with a question.

"What do you guys think of the new Chief ?"

Potter gulped a mouthful to clear his voice for action. Finnegan just mumbled, preferring to savor his chili rather than express an opinion. I had already formed my impression but was still composing a civil response. After all, we were eating.
Potter cleared his throat. took a swig of the berry juice just served and surprised us with,

"Ya know, the Navy must know what it’s doing sending us a guy like that."

"He’s uninspirational." replied Kunes. I found my self agreeing with him as my kindest thought. Finnegan, his hunger satisfied for an instant came out with.

"S#!t!! We just gotta put up with him for a couple of weeks, then we’re outta here.".

My mind mentally pictured Chief Ellis, recalling for the moment his speciality insignia... a steering wheel. That meant he might do some of the ship’s navigation, a subject I was deeply interested in. But the trig involved always baffled me. Potter drew on his brother’s experience.

"Ya know, every sailor gets shore assignments from time to time, maybe he just came off a ship and rated some shore duty now,"

"Yeah," Kunes scowled. "But ya think the Navy would at least brief him on training recruits before planting him in front of a company."

"By the looks of his uniform it looks like it just came out of a sea bag." blurted Finnigan.

There was a pause in our chatter. I mulled over the Chief’s morning announcements made earlier. My Jello was still to be enjoyed. It looked so neat resting in its own little space on my mess tray. I plunged my spoon into it. Its sweetness triggered the thought of another pleasant experience that would be coming up today. But Potter expressed it first.

"Hey! We’re to get our dress blues tailored to fit next."

Next: Dress blues and their complications.

JD

[Figment]

nudge, nudge, bumpitty-nudge.

[J. Dillon]

Camp Moffet’s grinder shimmered with the heat of late August. The sun was drilling in, determined to boil whatever moisture our drill field contained. Our barracks gave little relief, but at least they escaped the fury of the sun.
　
Boyd surfaced at the entrance, his command safely in place, while Chief Williams stood outside talking with Chief Ellis.
Boyd barked out with authority,

"All recruits assemble in the hallway barracks with their dress blues on".
It didn’t matter, we were all anticipating this command.
　
　
Finnegan and Kunes were still emptying out their sea bags. Potter and I already had dove into ours. We looked intensely at our rolled up dress blues. Finally I tore at the clothes stops that secured my tightly rolled up dress blue jumper. The square knots seemed glued tight. We were anxious to don that uniform - one that makes sailors distinctive from other uniformed services. Wool has an aroma that our room captured. As I unrolled my jumper, it breathed out like the relieved exhale of some contained creature. I turned it right side out. My eyes delighted in the stars and stripes adorning the collar and sleeves. I glanced at my roommates whose broad smiles adorned their faces. We all knew the trousers had to be donned first but the jumper seemed for the moment more distinctive . After all trousers are just trousers. Potter had a knowing look, like he had some secret knowledge bestowed by some deity. I unrolled my trousers, that wool aroma drifting up again into my brain. It delighted the soul of this sailor. I could see my roommates shared this moment. Then the buttons appeared and the lacing behind them. This again was quite different, not at all like "civies". At the time of issuing none of us had the time or attention to study their texture even when learning how to care for and stow them in our sea bags. But now we were actually going to wear them and look more like the sailors one thinks of when drawing up an image in one’s mind. By now we were all in our underwear, each eager to pull up those dress blue trousers. We ignored our sweating bodies confined in that oven of our barracks. Noble things were at hand. It was a different sound from the dungarees and whites we had pulled up for two months. Wool slides on differently. It caressed our legs as we drew them on and up.




I looked down, fifteen buttons stared back. Each had a fouled anchor adoring its shiny black surface. For a second I thought, why do they call em "dress blues" when they’re really black? It seemed simple enough to fasten the two waist buttons to hold the trousers up, but now the object was to tackle the thirteen other buttons.
Potter had a smirk. He had seen his WWII Navy brother cope with the fly and knew what to expect. I struggled, the button holes were tight. I could sense use of the fly on the quick could present problems... for more than one reason. Potter piped up. We all listened knowing he was the authority, bestowed by a brother who had been there.

"It gets easy," he spouted. "The button holes stretch a bit"
His smirk evolved into a smile as we roommates watched.

" Once buttoned up you really only have to undo one side of the flap, at the most half the buttons, whip it out, do what you have to do and button up. Skill and speed comes with usage." That satisfied us for the moment. But I wondered how it worked for other moments that might occur in a sailor’s life.

" If you’re left handed just use the buttons on the left side." added Potter.

We were all trousered up. The dress blue jumper came next. That had no buttons and its use was already familiar as the undress whites we’d been wearing had the same design. But the smell of that wool and its softness struck something in each of our souls as we slid into the distinctive hallmark of a US Navy sailor, the stars and stripes setting each of us apart from Navies of other nations. How that pair of stars seem to glow on me as well as my room mates! I straightened out my collar so it hung just right. I felt good with the world, an emotion that would continue each and every time I wore that jumper.

"OK, you guys," shouted Boyd. "Assemble below on the lower deck hallway."

His abruptness rudely broke into my internal glowing as well as that of my fellow recruits. We were tempted to roll up our neckerchiefs and try them on to complete the "look" but the impending tailoring urgency halted that idea.




The lower deck was filled with grinning recruits all lined up. Despite the off the shelf dispersal we looked good in our dress blues. WWII had produced jumpers that still retained the white stripe at the right shoulder indicating a seaman. They even still retained the two stripes of a recruit on the cuffs. Three stripes would be added and speciality insignia would be up-dated during the alteration. Some uniforms demanded major attention but most of us needed little adjustment to our dress blues. An officer supervised the fit. It looked like the recruit command wanted to send us home on our first leave looking like a credit to Uncle Sam and his Navy.

To be continued

JD
　

[Paul Pless]

Happy Birthday Mr. Dillon!

[John B]

Happy Birthday JD!

[Robbie 2]

Best wishes Jack.

[J. Dillon]

We turned in our dress uniform on to be unceremoniously carted off to some uncaring tailoring outfit. I had mixed emotions at peeling off my dress blues. I felt more like a US Navy sailor in them, but it was good to release the pent up sweat contained by pure wool and just endure the inescapable heat our barracks still clutched. My roommates and I returned to our working dungarees still a bit dank at the arm pits.

A commotion drew our attention. It came from below, on the lower deck, and didn’t have the ring of another fight. Potter and Finnegan got to the door opening before Kunes and I to tumble down the stairway. A large group of Company 256 had encircled a lone figure quite distinctive from the recruits drab in the wrinkled dungarees. At first glance it looked like an officer in khakis but there were no epaulets... It was Chief petty officer Kinter resplendent in his new Chief’s uniform. He appeared a bit awkward at first but his typical broad grin broke out beneath a hat displaying three simple letters: USN, over a gold anchor. We were in a kind of awe. Here he was, our big brother all decked out in a new uniform endowed now with a more recognizable authority than the garb of an ordinary sailor. It was easy to see that Kinter still felt like one of us, especially standing in the middle of recruits. all decked out in an entirely different garb than we sailors. For a second I wondered how he’d make the transition to a Chief in the mental sense. There’s more to it then donning a different cut of uniform.
Someone shouted:

"Where ya going next, Kinter?" quickly correcting himself by adding : "Chief."

"I’m assigned to the USS Missouri. She’s in Norfolk, VA. now."

Everyone knew that ship, the one where Japan surrendered, ending WW2.

"When ya leaving?" asked a voice in the muddle of recruits.

"In a couple of days." Kinter replied, his grin broadening a bit betraying eagerness.

"Ya mean you won’t be here when we graduate?"

"Chief Williams and Ellis will be there."

"Ellis?" groaned a voice somewhere in the crowd.

Chief Kinter was quick to pick up on a disparaging tone. His expression quickly changed. Now more serious...

"Yeah, Chief!! Ellis," spoken a bit louder and delivered in such a way as to expect respect from all present.

We recruits got the message implied by Chief Kinter. However the puzzled expression on our faces prompted Chief Kinter to look around knowing more was expected from our big brother.

"Ya might be interested to know that Chief Ellis is still recovering from serious burns he got from rescuing some ship mates trapped in a shipboard fire... He’ll probably get some kind of medal."

I could hear the far off whistle of a distant train. It got that quiet for a moment as we absorbed this bit of scuttlebutt about Chief Ellis. Maybe that’s why he seemed so twisted looking. Like it was difficult for him to stand tall like Chief Williams. I glanced at Kunes.
He wore a curious expression on his face, like he now had some empathy for Chief Ellis. I had been noticing Kunes flinching some at anything about fire and vowed to surface his anxiety at an opportune moment alone. The humor of all got back to normal as we joked about Chief Kinter and hoped we might again come across him during our time in the Navy.
　

Finnigan had a stack of letters near him in the lower bunk and was scribbling away, replying to some of them. Kunes and I were pouring through the Blue Jackets Manual studying for the upcoming exam. Potter was readying his uniform for a mid watch two hours from now.
Taps sounded. That brown noser of a Company Clerk was yelling, "Lights Out!" We couldn’t see him as our room walls protected us from eye contact, but we knew that squeaky voice was always trying to sound important.

A dim red light filtered in from the hallway It illuminated escape routes in the event of fire. I had gotten to know it and the shadows it cast on my surroundings. A few distant conversations drifted in as a company of recruits drifted off to sleep, each with different thoughts. I struggled with how to steal into my roommate Kunes’ secrets. Then it came to me ...and a restful sleep.
The stirring of the roving patrol whispering to Potter woke me. He quietly dressed all prepared for his midwatch.. Kunes beneath me rustled. I could feel the bunk move. Finnegan farted. I guess one can do that in sleep. I went off again confident in my strategy to probe into Kunes’ mind
　
　
It was Friday. A barracks inspection started the day, followed by the usual drilling in which Chief Ellis ran us through our paces. Some review classes finished another hot day. Saturday would again have us competing, this time for the Regimental Rooster. Then after that - Liberty. Recruit training would soon be coming to a close and a seven day leave for home.
We knew that spotless whites would count at the review, so the washing rack was full as Company 256 recruits scrubbed their dress whites to hang and still catch the lowering sun for drying. There was no room for me. I drifted back into the barracks figuring to come back when the scrubbing crowd thinned a bit. I was surprised to find Kunes there sitting on his bunk still in dungarees and leggings.





His eyes bored into the Bluejackets Manual. It was opened to the fire fighting section. Outside laughter drifted in. but the room was quiet.
Just Kunes and I. Now was my chance.

"Hey, Richard." I sometimes called him that. "What do you think about Chief Ellis?"

There was a pause. Scuffling below meant some recruits were filtering back into the barracks probably to change into undress whites, the uniform of the day after 16:00. Kunes looked up. It was as though he didn’t know me but slowly became aware of the moment.

"Yea," he replied, "He’s coming around ... drilled us pretty good today."

There was no further remark. Just a silence. I really wanted Kunes to comment on the prospect of Chief Ellis getting a medal and how he was burned.
I realized I had to be a bit more focused.

"I wonder just how severe his burns were."

I paused. Still.. silence. I decided to play my ace card.

"My mom told me about the burn scars on her arm received when she was a teenager. Someone stretched their arms out at a dinner table while boiling hot coffee was being poured, spilling on her. Those twisted scars looked horrible to me as a kid growing up."

Kunes put down his Blue Jackets Manual and looked straight into my eyes.
To be continued..

JD
　
　
　
　

[RHarris]

Great reading Jack! I wish I could remember some of the details of boot camp like you. With that your story brings back some great and some not so great memories of boot camp.

[J. Dillon]

Merry Christmas to all and have a great and healthy New Year.



JD

[Garret]

You too!

[J. Dillon]

Well, some are still "viewing" this tale so here goes :

I felt uneasy, like his direct look was slipping into my being. Then his focus glossed, like I wasn’t there. Kunes was looking back, far back into a past he’d rather forget.
He took a deep breath like one might do in a confessional when revealing grievous sins to a faceless voice confined in a wooden box.

"It was just past my nineth birthday. My uncle Carl was just finishing a carbon and valve job on his ‘31 Chevy. I was helping him, so glad to get my hands dirty and into the guts of a real gasoline engine."

Scuffling sounds on the lower deck threatened an intrusion into the confessional. Kunes faltered for a moment but quietly continued.

"I can remember how good I felt inserting the valve keepers behind the valve springs, like I was important, helping to do the job. Uncle Carl was smiling as he wiped his big hands on some greasy rags glad the job was finished. I felt the same way He got behind the seat to start her up. Well, that engine cranked over but didn’t start, despite long periods of his foot on the starter pedal and working the throttle..

" She needs some hand choking," he announced.
"Dick! Get in and step on the starter pedal."

" I was real eager to get behind that wheel and take over the controls.
I pushed in the clutch to doubly make sure she was in neutral and waited for the signal from my uncle."

"Ok Dick crank her over."

"Boy was I thrilled. My feet could hardly reach the starter pedal. My uncle had the throttle linkage under his control and I could almost see his hand over the carburetor. I pushed down on the starter pedal. That dammed engine just ground away, then suddenly there was a kind of roar. I could see flames shoot up and my uncle reel back screaming in pain."

My roommate stopped, his eyes refocused to the present but cast to the side. Our room was silent. Kunes recovered quickly but added,

"His face and hands were horribly burned."

I didn’t say a word but sensed a feeling of guilt in my fellow recruit.

Kunes didn’t go on. I figured there was more to this story but I remained silent.



A feeling of excitement hung in the barracks as we prepared to go to the parade grounds over at Camp Barry. Dress whites was the uniform of the day. Once again we were to march and compete for the Regimental Rooster. Finnegan was putting a final spit shine on his dress shoes and bitching that they were not broken in yet. After all, the only time we wore them was for our one liberty and the competition. Potter chimed in,

"Hey we get liberty right after the parade."

"Yeah!! and it will be next week we graduate and will be leading off on the parade grounds,"
Kunes was quick to reply. As we both continued rolling up our neckerchiefs.
I almost forgot about that and what the future had in store for us. One test to advance to seaman apprentice and then assignments telling each of us where we were to go. And there was a week of leave to go home.
Finnegan was quick to mention about going back home. I wondered just how he would handle each of the many girls he corresponded with. Eventually we all assembled in front of the barracks at the urging of our recruit Commander Boyd.

Chief Williams slowly went through the ranks looking us over more closely, even squinting at our shoe laces to see if they were laced the Navy way. I wondered if he still had a bet about Company 256 winning another Rooster. Chief Ellis stood at the head of the company just kind of watching. Somehow he looked straighter as though he knew he was accepted by the boots in front of him.

"Company...At ease," shouted Chief Williams. Our rifle butts just kissed the ground. We were all feeling the glaring sun just level with the top of the flag pole.

"You men have come far and I’m proud to be your Company Commander. Today is your last competition and next week you will be graduating, off, on leave, and then assignments to schools or to the fleet. Your written exams will be next week as well so bone up on your Blue Jackets manual."

I glanced at Chief Ellis. I couldn’t see any expression on his face as the sun was in my eyes.
"Oh yes, liberty will be right after the competition and a time for some relaxation off this base. There’s much to see and do in Chicago."

I almost saw a wink in his eye and was glad he didn’t say any thing like "Behave your selves," like a parent might. Rather he was trusting that we were US Navy sailors and would act as such. My mind wandered some I did recall raucous behavior of some sailors in news reports. My attention was brought back by Chief William’s raised voice.

"Today Chief Ellis will run you through the competition for the Regimental Rooster."

"Company! Attention! Take over, Chief Ellis."

It was a bit of a shock to these ears. Did Chief Williams have that much confidence in his assistant? Or did he feel we had the right stuff no matter who gave the commands? What about any bets he may have had? Or was there something more being taught to us recruits?
I could sense all eyes shifting to Chief Ellis, mine included, Would he measure up ? Was he to be tested as well as the recruits before him ? Our company could lose the Regimental Rooster because of an incompetent Chief. After all, we wanted to win that banner. Was this possible under the command of a Chief that had yet to march us off any where, let alone to a competition?




Company 256 was ready but was Chief Ellis

Chief Ellis straightened as a full Company of eyes bore his way. He never flinched.

"Company!...Right shoulder...Arms!"

It was a sweet sound in perfect sync as we all shouldered our rifles.
"Right!.. Face!" The sound of men turning broke the brief silence. Eyes now stared unseeing in another direction.

"Company... Forward... March." The words broke loud and clear even echoing in my brain.
Company 256 stepped off... to glory or humiliation ?


JD
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
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[Garret]

Great to see the posts back!! Happy New Year & thank you very much.

Garret

[Figment]

tap tap tap

[J. Dillon]

There was still a lot of the day left after Saturday’s competition on Camp Barry parade grounds. Eight bells had sounded and the almost straight up sun confirmed it. Liberty lay ahead. We gulped down our Navy chow and little was said about how we fared when Chief Ellis put us through our paces. This time Finnegan had a liberty card and so did the rest of us. So chatter about Chicago was the topic.

Our train picked up speed. You could feel its smooth electric acceleration. No steam locomotive for this Chicago bound train. Kunes, Potter, Finnegan, and I hung on to what hand holds we could find deferring our seats to some seniors and ladies. We’d all had become imbued with what our uniforms meant and determined never to disgrace it. Chicago lay some distance down the tracks and our liberty cards gave us time to explore a big city. We had no idea what we wanted to do. Just get away from Great Lakes and boot camp. Maybe we could see what our uniforms could attract in the way of the opposite gender. Perhaps some of Finnigan’s charm could spill over for us. He had managed a flirtation with one gal at the PX. A northbound train whizzed by. Its whistle faded quickly. None of us spoke. We were absorbing another world, one we had left just a couple of months ago. Each of us alone in a crowd. I knew what dominated Potter’s mind but did he have the money? Or could we be just "lucky"?
Our train slowed. Standing, I couldn’t see just where we were, but a stop was coming up for sure. We braked smoothly. None of us swayed. I bent over to look out a window. Travelers and advertisements adorned the station.




One poster stuck out above the rest, at least to my 18 yr old eyes. Navy training couldn’t subdue the hormones coursing through our bodies. Potter’s idea seemed good after all. I had 25 bucks stuffed in my wallet. It felt tight in my dress white trousers. The doors closed. We easily slid forward again like it was so easy to move tons of train by the unseen power of electricity, so different than a noisy chugging coal fired locomotive. There was no doubt Chicago was getting close as formidable buildings swallowed up our train.

Union station, Chicago, reminded me of Grand Central station in NYC . It bustled with life. Civilians mostly, but a sprinkle of sailors like us just emerging from the train. Finnigan spotted a photo taking booth.

"Hey, lets get a picture of us in our dress whites."

"Yeah," we all agreed. It would be something to send back home. A group picture was impossible but we managed a picture by pairs for a quarter each. Potter looked at Finnigan’s photo paired with himself.

"Ya know, this one looks better than the one on your ID card."

Finnigan agreed but looked up nudging Kunes and me .

"Who are those fat guys with those weird hats?"

I stared. Most had big bellies protruding as though they were something to show off, but the hats had a look I’d seen before: an Arab sword and quarter moon were prominent on the cone shape. But where? They were a jovial group and seemed bent on having a good time. Two bandied a stick of some kind.

Out on the street horns blared, the sun seemed blinding. It managed to blast its heat from between a forest of tall buildings. I was used to it but Potter and Finnigan constantly looked up. Kunes and I focused ahead as our bodies moved north like a force was pulling us in that direction. Yet we felt like our course was aimless. Swarthy vendors hawked hot dogs and orange drinks for a quarter prompting Finnnigan to pipe up:

"I’m thirsty!"

Potter agreed. "Lets find a place to get a beer."

My mind wondered if he was recalling the beer bouts his older Navy brother boasted about. We shuffled on. It was good to see the ladies of any age all decked out and window shopping The four of us peered in beside a youngish pair but they quickly moved on as if we had a pox. On we drifted out of step with each other. Then it hove into sight - an outdoor beer garden. It even had trees to give shade that buildings missed

"Let’s go in and have a few," cried Potter.

His declaration was echoed by Finnegan. Kunes remained silent like he had some secret knowledge, a trait I had noticed about him. I wondered about my own reaction. I hardly ever drank a beer and secretly dreaded the idea of gulping down one just for appearance sake. I’d rather have a Coke. Other sailors were seated there. All had petty officer’s "crows", one, a first class gunner’s mate with a hash mark. A half full pitcher dominated the table which was surrounded by foaming glasses. They hardly noticed us preferring to see what skirts drifted by. An empty table beckoned. In we strode with a haughty air. It was good to sit. The cane seats protested as they tried to conform to our butts. Mixed conversation of other patrons drifted to our ears. In the far end of the beer garden I spied more of those red hats. The wearers looked younger. Potter nudged me.

"Here comes the waiter."

I turned my head and sure enough a determined individual was in bound dodging a few tables much like sister Julia maneuvered past desks to enforce discipline back in grade school. However, our waiter bore a grin instead of vengeful look. He looked old, probably the same age as Chief Williams, and about as trim. Maybe he was retired Navy. Potter was ready, almost like he had rehearsed his words.

"We’ll have a beers all around," as if spoken with a practiced confidence.

Potters words seemed to astonish the waiter. They were uttered even before he could speak. Quickly our waiter glanced at each one of us. Then regaining his composure he now wore a smirk like he knew he was already one up on us.

"Could I see your ID cards, please," spoken like a chess player announcing "check" to his opponent.

I glanced at Kunes as he reached for his wallet. Finnigan was startled but Potter’s mouth dropped. Then it dawned on me as each of us surrendered our cards for inspection. Finnigan muttered something but Kunes and I knew the score and were just waiting for the waiter to give us the sad news.

"Gentleman, I cannot comply with your wishes." You’re all under 21, but I can serve you a great mixed non alcoholic drink. You’ll like it." and with a wink, he added, "Trust me." He was smart, like he sympathized with our plight, but knew how to bring us back up. We sailors glanced at each other and almost in unison said, OK.
Finnigan adding,

"Let’s see what ya got."

Potter spoke next. "Who are those guys over there with the funny hats?"

"Oh, they’re Shriners, in town on a convention," replied the waiter.
Now it came to me. Yeah, I’d seen them before in the Movietone news back home. I could hear their laughter over at that table. I figured they were loaded in more ways than one and they must have had deep pockets. Our waiter disappeared giving us a chance to look around. Few if any women came by. I guess shopping or coffee shops drew their attention.

"Ahh," exclaimed Finnigan after taking a big swig of one of the four drinks left by our waiter. I sipped mine, at first not being as adventurous as our charming liberty mate. For a few moments we sat in silence, each of us absorbing a world we almost forgot about. The hustle and bustle of a big city, people of all ages walking by garbed in every manner of dress. Dogs dragged old and young of both genders. Cars and trucks honked and braked, lights flashed. Even the distant rattle of an elevated train tickled my ears. Smells drifted by from God knows where, some good like mom’s home cooking, others foul. We sailors were out of tune with the civilian world. The military life was now in our core, but our origins were etched too deep and couldn’t be erased.

To be continued

JD

[Figment]

:cough: