Other Reading

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Other Reading Material
(Print this page out before going to the Head or else get a long cord for your monitor.)
Poems, Essays, and Other Writings.
Some Humorous, Some Serious.

The Following "Sea Story" was sent to me awhile back. I have edited it some. See how much of the story you can follow before you scroll down to the "Glossary of Terms."
Me and Willy were lollygagging by the scuttlebutt after being aloft to  boy butter up the antennas and were just perched on a bollard eyeballing a couple of bilge rats and flangeheads using crescent hammers to pack monkey shit around a fitting on a handybilly. All of a  sudden the dicksmith started hard-assing one of the deck apes for lifting his pogey bait. The pecker-checker was a sewer pipe sailor and the deckape was a gator. Maybe being blackshoes on a bird farm surrounded by a gaggle of cans didn't set right with either of those gobs. The deck ape ran through the nearest hatch and dogged it tight because he knew the penis machinist was going to lay below, catch him between decks and punch him in the snot locker. He'd probably wind up on the binnacle list but Doc would find a way to gundeck the paper or give it the deep six to keep himself above board. We heard the skivvywaver announce over the bitch box that the breadburners had creamed foreskins on toast (SOS) ready on the mess decks so we cut and run to avoid the fustercluck when the twidgets and cannon cockers knew chow was on. We were balls to the wall for the barn and everyone was preparing to hit the beach as soon as we doubled-up and threw over the brow. I had a ditty bag full of fufu juice that I was gonna spread on thick for the bar hogs with those sweet bosnias. Sure beats the hell out of brown bagging.  Might even hit the acey-duecy club and try to hook up with a westpac widow. They were always leaving snail trails on the dance floor on amateur night. 
Now, For you Land Lubbers OR those of you who may have forgotten . . .
lollygagging-----goofing off
scuttlebutt-----drinking fountain
aloft-----in the superstructure
boy butter-----light tan grease or silicone - for antennas and masts
bollard-----attached to a pier or deck to secure mooring lines.
bilge rats-----Engineering ratings
crescent hammers-----Cresent wrenches
handybilly-----P500 submersible pump
dicksmith-----Hospital Corpsman
hard-assing-----Giving someone a hard time verbally
deck ape-----Personnel assigned to the deck gang, usually Boatswain Mates
pogey bait-----any sweet stuff like candy, etc....(bought in the ge-dunk)
ge-dunk-----Place to buy pogey bait
sewer pipe-----Submarine
gator-----Ships of the amphibious force
blackshoes-----Non-aviation ratings
bird farm-----Aircraft Carrier
hatch-----doors, entrances through a bulkhead (wall)
dogged it-----activate a handle that puts the locks into place
penis machinist-----Hospital Corpsman
lay below-----to go to a lower level of the ship...below the weather decks
snot locker-----nose
binnacle list-----Medical department list of personnel in a no/light duty status
Gundeck-----to falsify a record
deep six-----to throw overboard
breadburners-----cooks [or stewburners or gut-robbers]
fustercluck /cluster&%# -----self-explanatory [Chinese fire drill, to those less PC]
twidgets-----men who work in electronics fields
cannon cockers-----Gunnersmates
balls to the wall-----full speed ahead
barn-----home port
hit the beach-----go on liberty
doubled up-----moored securely to the pier
brow-----walkway from ship/shore/ship
ditty bag-----small canvas bag issued to sailors to keep incidentals in
fufu juice-----cologne
bar hogs-----young/old ladies who frequent sailor bars
bosnias-----Big Old Standard Navy Issue Asses
brown bagging-----refers to married sailors who live off the ship while in port and bring lunch in a brown bag.
acey-duecy club-----Club for E5s and E6s (PO1 & PO2)
westpac widow-----women whose husbands are at sea
amateur night-----payday night

Reflections of a Blackshoe
by Vice Admiral Harold Koenig, USN (Ret)

I like the Navy.

I like 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 drive her through the sea.
I like 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 like the vessels of the Navy - nervous darting destroyers, plodding fleet auxiliaries, sleek submarines and steady solid carriers. I like the proud sonorous names of Navy capital ships: Midway, Lexington, Saratoga, Coral Sea - memorials of great battles won. I like the lean angular names of Navy 'tin-cans': Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy - mementos of heroes who went before us.

I like the tempo of a Navy band blaring through the topside speakers as we pull away from the oiler after refueling at sea. I like liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port. I even like all hands working parties as my ship fills herself with the multitude of supplies both mundane and exotic which she needs to cut her ties to the land and carry out her mission anywhere on the globe where there is water to float her.

I like sailors, 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 trust and depend on them as they trust and depend on me - for professional competence, for comradeship, for courage. In a word, they are "shipmates."

I like the surge of adventure in my heart when the word is passed "Now station the special sea and anchor detail - all hands to quarters for leaving port", and I like the infectious thrill of sighting home again, with the waving hands of welcome from family and friends waiting pierside.

The work is 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 is ever present.

I like the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's work, as flying fish flit across the wave tops and sunset gives way to night. I like the feel of the Navy in darkness - the masthead lights, the red and green navigation lights and stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence of radar repeaters - they cut through the dusk and join with the mirror of stars overhead. And I like drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises large and small that tell me that my ship is alive and well, and that my shipmates on watch will keep me safe.

I like quiet midwatches with the aroma of strong coffee - the lifeblood of the Navy - permeating everywhere. And I like hectic watches when the exacting minuet of haze-gray
shapes racing at flank speed keeps all hands on a razor edge of alertness.

I like 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 watertight doors as the ship transforms herself in a few brief seconds from a peaceful workplace to a weapon of war - ready for anything. And I like the sight of space-age equipment manned by youngsters clad in dungarees and sound-powered phones that their grandfathers would still recognize.

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

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CTM2 Paul W. Hartnägel
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