A couple of my long lost buddies off the Big E recently got hold of me and turned me on to this website. Great job! Pls. keep it up. I was heartened to see my name included in one of Steve Wilson's stories. I remember the Pearl Harbor pier sprinting story very well.  As I recall there were 3 of us in the incident, I came in first, Dan Runde came in second and Steve brought up the rear. (No doubt giving him the honor of being the very last person on the ship.) That was the closest you could come to missing ship's movement yet still make it.

That ain't my only pier sprinting story. On my second cruise we stopped in Hobart, Tasmania. I think this was early 1976. On our last day in port I started late since I just got off the 0400 to 0800 in 1MMR. I met some of my steaming buddies for lunch. (Most of it liquid.) We then did some quick souvenir shopping and then hit the bars @4PM. Many stories came out of that night's festivities but that's for another time. Long story short, the last ferry of the evening left at midnight, I was miles away from the pier and the time was after 11:30. Fortunately, the Aussies I was partying with agreed to give me a ride. (I was the only American left, all others having decided to get back to the pier with more time to spare.) After driving through Hobart at way over the speed limit, myself and the carload of drunken Aussies came skidding up to the pier. The ferry was loaded and tooting its whistle in preparation for departure. The gangway was already up! I had about 100 yards to cover and not much time to do it in or I was going to be in deep doo doo. (Again!). To make matters more complicated, the police had put up wooden saw horses in a serpentine fashion for crowd control. (Kinda like Disneyland. ) So I was faced with doing the 100M high hurdles in Olympic time. Time for my Jessie Owens impersonation. Off I went like a shot. Now I'm not normally a track and field kind of guy, but that night I was in my element. I wasn't sure what was causing my newfound athletic prowess. Was it all the Cascade beer I had consumed or was it just my urgent need to catch the last ferry? Either way, I was a gazelle and made it to the side of the ferry in record time. The ferry was already 5 to 10 yards away from the pier. I made a mighty leap and made it with room to spare. I got many handshakes and slaps on the back from those who had witnessed this entire event. When we made it back to the ship I made a bee line to the M div. coop and hit the rack.

I woke up the next morning in time to have a quick breakfast and head down to the plant. I swung out of my top rack and when my feet hit the deck my legs collapsed. One look at my legs revealed a mass of scrapes, bumps and bruises. As my hangover was worse than my leg pain I put on my dungarees and headed off to chow. I sat down with a couple of my buds and they started congratulating me on my previous night's performance. It started coming back to me and I said I was pretty damn proud of my hurdling ability. They both broke into laughter and one of them said, "Hurdle? You crazy asshole, you knocked down everything on the pier. It looked like a tornado had gone through." Seems my height was OK but my take offs were about a step and a half too late. Any how I made it back to the ship on time? Maybe this is why I can now predict a change in the weather by the pain in my left knee.

Pat O'Neill 
CMO 
1 MMR 
'74 to 78 
Knub book handle: PP
PPON@chevrontexaco.com

Reading Pat's story above I am reminded of a similar incident.  Except it wasn't me who was doing the running and jumping.  It was some chowdale.  The facts are fuzzy so Dicko and Guido will have to correct me if I err in the relation of this tale since they were with me at the time.  I'm pretty sure this was the last liberty boat back to the Big E during our Toulon, France visit.  It was mobbed with drunken sailors and there seemed to be some urgency about getting onboard.  

As the boat began to untie a lone Big E squid stood on the pier, kissing his French amie.  We kept screaming at the guy to get aboard but he ignored us and kissed away.  This guy was in love--no doubt!  Finally the guy broke free and headed toward the liberty boat.  His French girlfriend began screaming and he ran back to her.  The sadness in his eyes was too painful to watch.  This poor guy had found the love of his life and now he had to leave her to return to the sea.

"Dude, get aboard now!" screamed the entire liberty boat.  But the guy just held his girl tight.  Now the liberty boat was fully untied and drifting to sea.

"Get aboard you idiot!" screamed the entire liberty boat again.  The liberty boat was now revving her engines and moving out.  The guy realized his peril and began running as fast as he could towards us.  I saw him leap but I can't remember if he made it or not.  I was pretty drunk and was secretly hoping for a miss.  Dicko, do you recall if the guy made it or not?  

KP

Ram, Ogan found Pat O'Neill in California--Pat was in our Nucscol class and was a good steaming bud of mine. He tells a better story than me, so standby.  The picture I sent (see below) goes with this story.

KP, 

This story is about the class leader of Nucscol class 7401-3, the second dumbest MM's. His name is Brian Cooper and is seated in the bottom row of picture, first on the left. This guy aced damn near every test in the school, and at times, had to correct our chemistry instructor "Choo-Choo" Griswold (he used to walk back and forth in front of the blackboard and move his arms like an old locomotive). During the second half of NPS, we find out that Coop has been selected for OCS and has to go see Rickover. He told us the first thing ol' Hymie said to him was, "You're overweight." I don't recall if Coop went on to be a Khaki, but I reckon he did.  The officer sitting next to Cooper is CDR Holt who taught (or at least tried to teach!) us Rx theory. One day while trying to show us how neutrons flit about, he drew a series of circles with dots in the middle of the circles. The dots were supposed to be neutrons coming out of the blackboard at us. So Holt is telling us this and then stops and says, "Some of you may think of this as a field of tits," which set us all to laughing.  The officer in the middle of the front row, Ltjg Glatzmeier, taught us RP, and every day after lunch he came back to class with glassy, bloodshot eyes, hmmmm... Anyway, six guys in this photo ended up on the "Big E": Myself-second row, first one on the left (behind Coop); Twain James-second row, third from right; Pat O'Neill-third row, fourth from left; Steve Gomulka-third row, fourth from right; Gary Steinke- fourth row, second from left; and Ron Ogan-fourth row, fourth from left.  I'd like to welcome my old friend, Pat O'Neill, to this "second to none" website, let the memories flow. 

Steve "Willy" Wilson 4MMR 

KP,

I'll never forget my first and last bout with sea sickness. We were returning from the last Vietnam war cruise (When Saigon Fell) and ran into one helluva little storm west of the Farralon Islands. Several aircraft parked on the the forward flight deck were damaged severely. We were berthed under the numbers, beneath the bow cat's water brakes. Flight ops were a pain till you learned to sleep through the crash of steam and steel. Anyway, this storm was a slow mover and we were in orbit awaiting a chance to make port. The bow of the Big E would fall about 50 to 60 feet and then sway drunkenly upward with thousands of tons of water washing over the flat flight deck. It didn't take long and I was in the head, laying on the deck, holding onto the water lines praying for a merciful death. After an undetermined amount of time I made it into the shower to wash off what didn't stay inside. I never suffered from it again but on many occasions did go a round or two with MoJo simulated death. Aaahhhhhh........ is that the smell of Shit River over the horizon!!! 

Ron Ogan

As I write, the news is talking about the Prez boarding an S-3 to fly out to the Lincoln to spend the afternoon. I am sure all of us remember the going home part of a cruise, and how things usually were a bit lax (unless of course an Orse was taking place). 

My mind boggles at the scene on the Lincoln. I expect the sweat pumps in the khaki crowd are 3 fast 3 fast now, with the ship's stores out of new dungarees, and the field day must be out of this world. Back in the 80s when SecNav was a pilot, he would roam the ships he visited, sign logs, sign special request chits and leave papers. Politics aside, it would be pretty cool to have leave papers signed by the Prez. 

If any Lincoln guys post here, let us know how things go. 

Best wishes from one of the old guys

Cruiser Ghost

KP

Since I got wind of your fine website, I've periodically visited it and been reading the stories in bite size chunks. A story on page one talked about a couple of guys dropping trou' and simulating sodomy to shake up a PPWO. This was a little rougher then how we used to play, but the way I look at it is if penetration (however slight) was not achieved, then no harm, no foul. It reminded me of a similar event that occurred in my early days. 

One evening JJ McGuire was heading down to 4MMR for the 20:00 to 00:00 as CMO. JJ stopped by the aft mess deck to have a quick bite. As fate would have it, this was one of those rare occasions where the entrée was not roast beef. They were serving Polish sausage. JJ welcomed the break in monotony and took three. They weren't all that good, so he only ate two. On his way to the scullery he realized that the phallic nature of the remaining sausage was too much to waste, so he stuck it in his pocket. Upon arriving on ERUL he noticed that Lithicum was at the workbench using a ball peen hammer to beat out a gasket on a pump casing.  He also noticed that the new forward group division officer was down having a "look - see" at his new kingdom. Most great ideas come from a flash of inspiration, and JJ quickly removed the sausage from his pocket and put it down the front of his skivvies. He walked over to the work bench and positioned himself so that the DO could only peripherally see what was about to happen. 

JJ unzipped his pants and pulled out just enough sausage to make it look like it was attached. He laid it on the work bench and said, "Hey Lithicum. Suck on this!"

Even those who were not there, remember vividly what happened next. Without missing a beat, Lithicum reached over and brought the full force of the hammer down on JJ's "member." Pieces of meat shot out on a spray pattern with a diameter of fifteen feet. JJ screamed out in pain, grabbed his crotch and fell to the deck moaning in fake agony. If the complete legend is true, the DO had to be escorted to sick bay and dosed with Valium.

Love and Kisses, 
P.P. 

P.S. Today [5/7/03] is Steve Wilson's fiftieth birthday! Congratulations Willy! Who'd ever thought we'd make it this far? Willy was always a good friend, good shipmate and great steaming buddy overseas. 

Our brother tars on the Lincoln have finally come home.  A ten and a half month cruise ain't nothing to sneeze at.  But it isn't that outrageous, either.  The 1986 cruise was 8 months long.  And I'm sure some of you made cruises that were at least 10 months long.  What was the longest cruise you remember?  Also, what was the longest you remember between port visits.  (I recall veterans of the '84 pac claiming they went 120 days without seeing land.)  Didn't the USS New Jersey do an 18 month cruise during the Beirut siege?  Now that's a long cruise!  

KP

KP  

KP,

It was always a labor of love to write letters to Penthouse and try our best to get them published. One in particular featured an A-7 pilot who had an extensive wardrobe of feminine skivvies. This pilot would carefully select an outfit appropriate for the mission that he was assigned to fly. For instance, combat missions over North Vietnam called for earth tones and even a camo bra and panty set. Each mission had its own special outfit and of course it would always culminate in the obvious release of passion just as he would make his approach to the three wire! This wasn't the only one published, but it was one of the first that kept idle minds and hands busy. 

Ron Ogan

Here's a little story I recalled after reading of the flying leaps to catch liberty launches. It's a true story of an in-port from 1982, when the Big "E" pulled in to North Island. Of course, there were immediate plans to depart for Tijuana. Amazingly, I, Arrgh!, Mr "let's see how much trouble we can cause and/or get into," decided to steer clear of TJ. I had heard many stories of the fabled land of excesses, but since my brother was stationed there, I decided that it would be far better for me to spend some time with him than to get into trouble, as I sensed that trouble most certainly awaited the sailor types in TJ.

As it turns out, I got into plenty of strange circumstances as it was. One evening, I got separated from my brother because he had to go do something with his wife (daughter of the JAG from Yoksuka), and wound up in a bar in Chula Vista, about 10 blocks from my brother's place. At about 2AM, I walked from that bar to his house. When I got there and told him I walked, he almost crapped his pants, and THEN informs me that I had just walked through a no man's land of Mexican gang warfare! I thanked him for letting me know before I endangered myself again ...

Meanwhile, in TJ, my buddies were having fun drinking, partying and generally raising hell. My bestest buddy Steve "Worthless" Wegner, and Mike M_cFarland, and a few others were down in TJ enjoying themselves on liberty. They tried in vain to get me to go with, but I was going to see my brother again. I sensed the danger somehow... As things were winding down, and the revelers were headed back to the border, Mike decided that he needed to relieve himself. Being dark, and no one seemed to be near, he did his business on the dirt road they were traversing, then they proceeded on. Suddenly, headlights and a gumball rack lit up, and the boys knew they were in trouble deep! The cop had seen what Mike did, and when they tried to deny it, he showed them the wet spot in the road, and took Mike off to the big house. The boys were really in deep crap, since it took all the money they could pool together to bail Mikey out, and they had no money for the train ride back. After getting back to the train station, they had to beg for the fare from the fellow squids headed back. Someone had mercy, and they made it back in time for the last evening of liberty!

On the last evening of liberty in Southern Cal, we ended up split up again. This time, I think my drunkenness led me to a beach party idea in an attempt to find some female companionship. Steve and I think Mike tried to have a shot of tequila in every bar on the island. Too drunk to find the Enterprise by themselves in the dark (no one to this day knows how they could miss the giant "65" 10 stories high), they decided to ask for assistance from a local law enforcement officer, and they were promptly arrested. They were transferred to the San Diego City jail, and there in the morning, they were released, and not charged with anything, since all they had done was ask for directions. Sadly, they could not make it to the ship before she pulled out. They had MISSED SHIPS MOVEMENT!!!

Then, since they didn't get charged with anything, and since they were nukes and we were so short of personnel, they were "forgiven," and given a pass. Not only that, they were the only nukes I know that ever got a ride to the ship on a helicopter.

Arrgh!

I served on the Pig-E from September 91’-June 96’. I worked in EM-14, RT, and EM-23. My email address is Wesley.little@elpaso.com 

Wesley Little

SRZBanker@hotmail.com

Ram,

Well I must say I'm impressed with your site. I was on the pig at roughly the same time that you were, though I really didn't know you very well. I'm Patty-O Hall from RC14 and I was on from November 87 until August 91. I got on right before the 88 Westpac. After RT and a month in the coop, I spent the rest of the cruise on an ORSE watchteam in 1 Plant as LRPT because I was really good at repeating back commands in a flash like, "Engine room lower level, cut aux gland exhaust condenser drains back to the dearating feed tank" (forgive me if I messed up the technical details, remember I was an RO). I stood watch with Mr. A the whole cruise, and was glad because he was a really good guy. The other guys on the EOS crew were Jestice on throttles, Dave Boorn, and a guy named Booger (can't remember his real name). Mr. A liked me a lot and used to call me "XO." He used to take me on his log tours to teach me things about the plant. He promised me that one day after ORSE he would send me to do his log tour without him and he would take my thermocouple logs. Sure enough, the day came, he taught me to forge his initials, I made his log tour, and he took all my readings. The guys in the engine room were pretty surprised to see me walk down there, ask for the status of their watchstation, then sign their logs. Unfortunately, on my tour I decided to screw with the ROs, and in the RAR I jiggled the position switch on a valve that made an amber light flash on the RPCP. When I got back to EOS, Mr. A banished me to the escape trunk for the rest of the watch. 

At the end of the cruise, we pulled into Seattle to pick up tigers and have a couple days liberty. We were steaming in port, so had all the watches set. Walters, the control equipment watch, inexplicably decided to hide under the wireways and take a nap. He dozed so hard that repeated pages were not successful in summoning him. Because I thought I knew where he might be hiding, I went to wake him up but we were both caught in the act by the watch officer, Mr. Bachman who saw me and followed me there.  They made me go to his captain's mast as a witness, fortunately I didn't have to say much. They threw the book at Walters, giving him 45 days restriction, 45 days extra duty, and reduction in rate. They even revoked his mustache chit. 

The SRA in Alameda was possibly my worst time in the navy, I did many a 6-and-6 Heise gauge watch. They expected single guys to live on the ship while they dismantled it, but finally I rented a house with Spuds and Karl Pfaff. I was even occasionally invited to the wild parties that were held there. I also did the 89-90 World Cruise, during much of which I was held prisoner in the Reactor Dept. office as a night shift yeoman. I was a newly-qualified SRO, so I'll never understand why they sent me there. At least now I can type like the wind. I also did my time at the panel, though, especially SRO during the first year of the overhaul. I ended my naval career as LPO of one of four RC14 shifts while in drydock. I actually hold the honor of performing the final shutdown of the 4B reactor (the highest EFPH reactor on the ship) before the refuel. People on other ships would probably be amazed at how many hours we squeezed out of that thing in 20 years. 

Another interesting thing I learned tonight is that Chief Triggs was convicted the very day I got out of the navy, which makes it a day for double celebration. After getting out I moved to Washington state, where I have lived ever since. Initially I did odd jobs, including delivering pizza (which I actually did moonlighting while in drydock) and driving taxi. About a year later, someone came and built a brand-new cogeneration plant four blocks from my apartment in Bellingham, and I got hired onto the startup crew. I planned to work there for a year or two while saving for college, but soon became a slave to a 1953 Piper Super Cub and wound up working there for almost five years. Finally, right before I turned 30 I sold my interest in the plane and started at the electrical engineering program at the University of Washington in Seattle. I graduated just two years ago, and am fortunate to be happily employed in Everett working on spectrum analyzers and analog-to-digital converters for a major manufacturer of electronic test equipment. 

This site has really brought back memories, it's amazing how much I have learned about guys I knew then. The pictures of the RPCP, control equipment, and S5G prototype were a blast from the past as well. One of my own stories from when I was a nub is about the time they sent me down to 2 plant to borrow the visicorder. It was rumored that all the guys down there were a little weird, and they proved me right. As I approached the control equipment watch (whose name rhymes with "Sheesh!") to procure the device, I noticed that his fly was open and his member was hanging out for all to see. Suddenly, he pointed his finger at me sternly, shouting "DICKGAZER!" and started questioning my sexual orientation. The next time I went there, he was similarly attired, except I looked him straight in the eye, asked him how many days he had left (the required greeting), and conducted my business as if nothing unusual was going on. 

One of the greatest mysteries that I recall was the death of Todd Terr__iano. It wasn't widely publicized, but I was working in the office at the time it happened and had to type a letter to his stepfather explaining that they Navy wouldn't pay his life insurance because he was a deserter at the time. I know that he was busted down to E-3 for supposedly putting his TLD in a high rad area to run up his exposure. He thought this would rescue him from nukedom, but instead they made him a mess crank. Then, he deserted and later we learned that he died. However, everyone knows he was often seen reading books on how to fake your death. 

If anyone who knows me wants to, please drop me a line. BTW, I loved the trivia questions about the 88 cruise. I remember the sensitive club pretty well, because I was stuck with Hudson quite a bit listening to him sing while he worked. I have a trivia question: who was "Hefty Hen" and how did he get his name? You modern nukes might sometime find some graffiti behind a panel on the 4 plant RPCP that says, "HEFTY HEN SAYS BUCK BUCK BUCK OFF!"

Patty-O Hall
patrick_hall@cnw.com

KP

Hey Ram,

I'm in the middle of an insomniac attack (luckily its Friday night) and have been poring over the Big E Rx Site stories and laughing my ass off and reading a story about illegal reading material in the switchgears sparked a semi-dormant brain cell. As you know, during ORSE work-ups, you work with the same bunch of watch-standers on a tight 5 and 10 rotation. Well, for this Orse work-up, I think it was '86, my watch supervisor was good old Chief Whitsett. As everyone remembers, boredom is a part of being at sea, and standing watch over and over with the same people doesn't help much. We all had our ways to relieve the tedious boredom of being endlessly at sea and, for a time, my boredom reliever of choice was logic puzzles. (Maybe you've seen them, you're given a few hints about people and things and you sort of work out which person goes with which thing.) I really got addicted to them and pretty quickly I started bringing a puzzle or two with me to work on during my watch. Well, basically, the Chief just hung out in switchgear like any other RE and, before long, he and the switchgear operator discovered how addictive they could be. They really got hooked and each watch all 3 of us were down there feverishly working on these things, usually stuck in with the watchlogs on our clipboards. (I don't think the Chief or I bothered with our watch tours too much) Well, shoot forward in time a couple of years, Chief is off the boat, it's Westpac '88 and he's doing his shore rotation at Idaho prototype. One day at mail call I get a manila envelope from none other than Chief Whitsett, and what's inside? A whole stack of logic puzzles! Good old Jim Whitsett was thinking of me and my boredom and had taken the time to copy a shitload of puzzles and mail them off to me. I had to laugh. Thanks Chief! And after all the grief I gave you. :)

Rich Marsh
RE03

Jason Sword EM14, EM11 1996-2000

Great Site!!!

Jason_Sword@medcohealth.com

KP

It's really sad that many of the best liberty ports in the Westpac arena are gone. Now, because of recent events, it's unlikely that any more ports of call will be happening in Kenya. Mombassa was one of my favorites, even though the trip to the shore on the cattle boat sucked! Here's a little story from back during the 82-83 cruise that happened to "Worthless" and I...

Mombassa was an interesting port of call. Out of all of the places we visited on the WestPac, I thought the people of Mombassa were genuinely the most friendly, on the large scale. What I mean is, there weren't nearly as many scammers trying to get into your wallet. When the people greeted you with that cool sounding "Jambo" it seems they actually meant it.

One afternoon, Worthless and I found ourselves downtown, beer bottles in hand, me with a cigarette, needing a ride back to the New Florida Club (why we were downtown is another whole story). We approached a line of taxi's, and asked the driver of the first cab how much it would be for the trip. He named an outrageously high price. I started haggling, but he wouldn't budge on the price, something that was unusual. Again, my "spider sense" was failing me, as I should have suspected that something was up. Indignant, I looked over at the second taxi driver and said, "You'd take us there for (whatever the right price was, I forget) and he said "Certainly!" So, we climbed into the second one in line, as I thought to myself, "I'm getting pretty good at this haggling stuff!" I got in front, and Steve "Worthless" W_egner got into the back. As the cabbie started the car, the back door opposite Worthless opened, and two guys got in, just as the cab pulled away at a rapid pace. I thought to myself, "Oh, S__t, were gonna get rolled for sure," and started planning how to get out of the situation. I still had my beer bottle, and the dashboard was metal, so I figured I could smash it and make an instant knife and hold it to the driver's throat. Just then, one of the guys in the back asked me if I was smoking an American cigarette, which it was (I had a pack of Winston's on me). 

I began to relax some, as they explained that the guys in back needed a ride, but couldn't afford the fare, so as a token of good will, the guy in back asked us if we smoked "ganja." I wasn't sure what that was, but I had a pretty good idea. He pulled a bag out of his shirt, and opened it up and it was full of "ganja," or the Mombasan equivalent of the "wild wood weed." He said he'd trade me a spleef (a cornucopia shaped joint) for an American cigarette, and I gave him the whole pack for a handful of spleefs. I noticed that we were driving uphill, and the New Florida Club was down by the coast, and asked where we were headed. The driver told me that we would be at the Club in 5 minutes, but we needed to make a quick stop.

About that time, the car stopped in front of a house on this dirt road outside of town, and the guy with the bag jumped out, and started slowly walking toward the house. Some tough looking, very suspicious characters came around from the sides of the house, and were peeking out of the windows, too. I was getting scared again, but the guy went in the house for about 15 seconds, and came back out, walking quickly to the car, and we drove off. Then he pulled a different bag out his shirt, and asked us if we wanted to chew a coca stem. I said, "Chew a what?" He repeated "Coca stem. You chew, party all night! Big fun and not get tired!" Worthless and I each put out our hands and received our stems, and started a 'chawin. He was right, boy! Party all night, not get sleepy! Definitely a bonus for the Arrgh!, as I was noted for unexpectedly falling asleep in the middle of a party.

We had been the insurance that the fellas in the house were not going to try any funny business, as everyone knows that if you messed with the American sailors, the government there would come down heavy on you. We would pull into these countries, drop a couple of million into their economy, and sail off, to return at some later date, and they enjoyed the economic boost. Therefore, they frowned very heavily on any activity which would embarrass or anger the US, including things like, say, killing sailors in taxi cabs. Lucky for us, eh?

They also had another kind of insurance policy there in Kenya. While we were partying at the New Florida Club, my friends and I went out back by the water, and were relaxing, drinking a cold one. I commented on how peaceful and calm it was, and Worthless said, "Yeah, especially with those guards around." I asked, "What guards? I haven't seen any guards" and started looking around.  He said, "Not down here, Arrgh!, look up on the roof, ya bozo!" I looked up on the roof of the club, and sure enough, there were numerous armed guards up there with what appeared from our vantage point to be fully automatic type weapons. I guess some insurance policies are better than others...

Arrgh!

KP    

Men, here's the deal; I'm finally going to start researching to build one of those huge Tamiya Enterprise models, and I'm gonna make it a show winner. I want it to look just like it did for the '82 cruise. If you have any pictures of the aircraft we had aboard then, please let me get a copy! Thanks to the magic of the internet, if you have them scanned, you could e-mail me a copy. If you love me, you will. If you don't care, you might anyway. I hope you will, because I want to detail out the teeny jets like the real thing and everything. I want to make a little "Arrgh!" and put him on there someplace, too! Also, if you know of any links to the squadrons that were aboard with pictures of the craft, I want those too. I appreciate any help up front.

No promises on the timeline for this project. I still have to buy all of the equipment to build this thing, and it'll probably end up running $500 before it's all over (not counting time invested). Let me know if you can help with pictures. Please, no pictures of your ugly girlfriend with a pitcher of Mojo either. I have enough of those with me in them :)

Arrgh!  

Name: Ng, Alan
Work Center: RM23 1995-2000
E-mail address: roadrunner124@hotmail.com

Very interesting site you got here.

Man, the other day I started thinking ..... should I get a haircut?  I mean, like, it's been about 18 months since my last one.  Nah!  

Below is my latest baby: a brand new Ocean Turquoise stratocaster.  That's me hard at work in my office!  If I ain't playing guitar I'm tending to my many websites (including this one).  On some occasions I actually work.  Happy Memorial Day to all!

KP   

Hi!

I'm Wayne Mac McKinzey. I changed jobs and now have a new email address:
wayne.mckinzey@austinenergy.com.

Thanks!

K.P.,  The stories I read just keep dredging up long lost memories. A couple about contests brought up this one : 

On my second cruise, we were in the Indian Ocean and I was a newly anointed CMO. There was a big push on due to an upcoming inspection. Due to the sense on urgency, it must have been an ORSE. (I spent 4 years on the Big E and I think I remember going through 8 ORSE preps. You do the math.) We were standing 4 & 8s with a full work day thrown in to boot! ON THE FUCKING EQUATOR!! Morale was at an all time low. To boost the morale, we decided to hold a contest. Due to the nature of the heat in the engine room we decided to make it a water drinking contest. The rules were simple. At 08:00, the beginning of our official workday, we had one hour to drink as many 8 oz cups of water as possible. (Anyone remember those baby blue plastic coffee cups?) In keeping with 1MMR tradition we placed the words "World Championship" in front of any contest, so the "World Championship Water Drinking Contest" was born.

At exactly 08:00 the Big E was nice enough to signal the start of the contest by ringing a bell eight times. The contestants were off! We gathered around the water cooler jostling for position and drank like bastards. Those intelligent enough not to enter the contest kept score. After we each drank about ten cups, the cold water ran out. But that didn't slow us down. As I recall, the first fifteen cups went down real smooth. Cups fifteen to twenty started to separate the men from the boys. At cup number 26 and with about 20 minutes to go, I hit the wall. My good friend Gary Steinke was only 2 cups behind. Steinke dug down deep and forced down 2 more cups. To our shock and amazement, all that earned us was a tie for a distant third! Bob Alessi (AKA Wop) was deep into the 30s and Ed Kennicott (AKA PA) was only two cups behind. Wop and PA were staggering around like drunks. They were both probably legally dead. With ten minutes to go and 37 cups of water on his gut, Wop turned his head toward starboard, dropped his jaw, and let forth with a blast of clear water that looked like it came out of a 2 1/2 inch fire nozzle. Most of it hit the deck, but some of it reached the starboard bulkhead. PA, deciding not to make such a public spectacle, put his hand over his mouth and ran for the deep sink. About half way there he started slipping and sliding in Wop's new "lake." PA grabbed the main circ pump valve motor actuator, reared back his head, and douched what I believe was the main gland exhaust condenser.

The judges, such as they were, were not impressed with either participant's performance. They elected to disqualify both PA and Wop for "unsportsmanlike conduct." By default, Steinke and I were awarded first place. I don't know what the prize was, but I'll tell you it definitely was not worth it. If I ever do something that stupid again, someone please shoot me!

PP

Remember your first trip to the fabled land of hedonistic revelry? I remember my first trip to the PI...

We got off the ship early in the morning, but planned to make our daylong adventure "sane." We started out doing laundry on base and then hit town. Of course, my good steaming buddy "Worthless" and I hit the town running! We decided to pace ourselves, and started out hitting the veterans club, or whatever that place was called on the the strip; it was on the left side about 1/2 way down the block, and was a place for sailors and probably married guys, 'cause no "girls" were "hostessing" there. The San Miguel's were cheaper, and there was nobody trying to liberate your cash. They had a pool table, a balcony, and plenty of non-female distractions. We went there to get primed; then headed down to the Sierra Club.

It was blazing hot out, and the sun was cooking us. As we approached the Sierra Club you could feel the music as much as you could hear it. As we passed from the bright sun to the dark interior of the bar, I was temporarily blind. Someone grabbed me by my right hand, and I was being drawn inside and to a chair in the middle of the drinking area. Before my eyes had adjusted to the dark and I could see, a smallish person had thrown themself into my lap with their arms around my neck, asking me if I was from the Enterprise. When I said "yes," I was immediately assailed with accusations of being a "cherry boy." So far, I was pretty well overwhelmed. No amount of preparation can get you ready for a greeting like this! Having heard about benny boys and being duly warned, I asked her if she was a benny boy. To immediately resolve this question, she pulled her top half off to "show me the goods." I was convinced! I told her that I was not a "Cherry boy," because I was well versed in the "bedroom arts." She said "You no beeen with Filipino girl, you cherry boy!" How could you argue with that logic? So, resolved to my sad state, I asked her if there was anything she could do about my sad plight. She offered to remedy the situation, but only after she got off work. This being my first time there, I had no idea of how all of the "bar fine" and other nuances of the PI Honeyko world worked, so I believed what she said. Besides, we had a lot of drinking and partying and raising hell to take care of before the night was over, and it was only early afternoon. We finally pried ourselves away from our hostesses, vowing to return later, so we could explore other areas of town. I was warned of the fate of "butterfly boys" by Ethyl, my new-found friend, and promised companion for the evening's deflowering ceremony later on.

After much exploring and drinking and being assailed by women in every establishment, we returned to the Sierra club near closing time. I had "escaped" many early deflowerings by claiming to be spoken for, and claiming that I was no butterfly boy.   Sure enough, Ethyl was waiting for me, and certainly seemed happy that I had returned. We left, and stopped off on the way home for something to eat. When we got to Ethyl's, I was wiped out. I had been awake and peaking on a massive adrenalin rush for something like 30 hours or so, and after drinking dozens of San Miguels, I was bordering on the edge of a major crash and burn. All of the hormones in the world were having a hard time keeping me going. Ethyl told me to go into the bathroom and get undressed so she could give me a shower. ??!!?!?

Shocked, I went in and stripped. She followed me in and took off her clothes too. Then I noticed that this bathroom was very different than any I had seen before. The floor, walls and ceiling were ceramic tile, and there was a toilet and a floor drain.  That's where the similarity ended. There were two old mismatched valves sticking through the wall next to a rusty old pipe, which was protruding out from the wall. No fixtures. There was, however, a sauce pan. She turned on the water and got the temperature comfortable, then filled the sauce pan, and she dumped it over my head. This process was repeated until I was well rinsed, then she lathered up a washrag and proceeded to wash me. She rinsed me off, and then washed herself. She gave me a towel, and then sent me into her room. She said she would return in a few minutes and left. I was wiped out, and proceeded to lay on the bed, and was soon fast asleep.

Ethyl returned, and she woke me up and put me through every move I had ever imagined. I'm no porn star or anything, but I had been around some. Sadly, I was barely functional, and in spite of her best efforts, I had to beg Ethyl for mercy, and promised her a rain check. I know, you are probably slapping your forehead saying, "You idiot!" I couldn't help it, man. I was wasted. I slept a few hours, and Ethyl woke me up to send me back to the ship. I was ready for my rain check, but there was no time, as Ethyl told me she had to practically slap me silly to wake me up. I was promised a place to stay any time I wanted it, as long as I was willing to deal with her "work." I was young, foolish, and knew nothing of the way things worked in the PI then, which was probably a good thing. I never went back to the Sierra Club, and didn't see Ethyl again. If I had, I probably would have lost my bet with Dennis May, who bet me $100 I would be married within 1 year of hitting the PI. Many friends have tried to explain that she was probably already engaged or married, since she only seemed to work the drinks and never wanted to leave under the bar fine system. Whatever, I'll never know now (unless someone reading this is married to a Filipino gal named Ethyl). And trust me, she wasn't "Cold Ethyl," anything but!

Arrgh!

I served abroad the Enterprise from Nov 1979 to June 1982 in the RL divsion.

Douglas Ervin 
DougErvin913@aol.com

A True Tale from an anonymous 4-Plant RC guy (Please don't use my name!)

KP,

Entries from PP and Arrgh have jogged my memory banks!! I have two tales to tell-but first; Arrgh-those "Coca stems" in Mombassa were called Murungi and could be easily obtained from the local marketplace. Before we pulled into Mombassa on the 76-77 cruise, someone came up with a copy of High Times (I think it was Feb. 77) that had an article written by an American peace corps worker about Mombassa: Who, where, and what. Long story short, a guy named Castro at the Rainbow Hotel had just about everything and the Ozone Rangers (a 1 & 4 MMR steaming conglomerate) made him a rich man that inport period. One of the best liberties ever.  I think-it took me 4 days to return to normal after that one! 

Now back to PP's last day in Tasmania. Pat, Gary Steinke, and myself hooked up earlier that day at an establishment called the Black Knight for "Last Day in Hobart" festivities (major Steaming!). We started off with a beer-then a dark beer-then a black and tan. Gary suggests we quit fucking around, let's have some "yucka duks," a Michigan City, Indiana concoction-a shot of peppermint Schnapps AND bourbon in double shot glasses. It was a little after noon and the locals were starting to show up. As we downed our third "Y/D," a local named Dave (actually English) entered and seeing us slamming shots, exclaimed how pleased he was seeing us in action and promptly ordered more of the same. It seemed like everyone in the bar got involved and the noise level went from a low hum to a low roar as one and all were enjoying themselves. Arm wrestling matches broke out all over the bar; sailors vs. locals, sailors vs. sailors, etc. Since I had the 00-06 steaming watch I had to leave early.  Besides, I was way past being three sheets to the wind. I remember leaving the bar and thinking I'd better look at the bar sign so I'd remember where I was. I don't know what happened after that.  The next thing I remember was waking up on a ferry with a sea of puke in front of me (damn near a perfect 180 degree arc of barf ).  This I noted as I was coming to and gave myself credit for such a neat pattern of puke. I guess I was rescued by one of my Ozone Ranger brethren as one was next to me on the ferry and I thanked him profusely! That was my worst drunk ever-and you've already heard PP's rendition of what happened to him later. WHEW!! 

Arrgh mentioned the San Diego police a while back, which brings another story to mind. PP and I were out celebrating my birthday in San Diego whilst inport there once. PP was being very nice about telling everyone we met in every bar that it was my birthday. In one bar, some local snipe tars decided to buy me a birthday drink-ten shots of J.D. in a tall, thin bar glass, which I quaffed quickly only to have them buy yet another. I made it halfway through that one, then Pat showed me how to finish it.  Microseconds later, the glass was empty. Well, it is about time we started heading towards the ship after that as there were still bars we had to pass on the way back. We then came to a place called "Patrick's" which we both agreed we had to check out. The J.D. was kicking in hard on both of us and after one drink we agreed to call it a night. The next shit happened so fast-we leave the bar and there is a large planter box of concrete and stone with a tree in it, Pat says "Hey Willy, look at me, I'm a leaf!" as he laid down in the planter box with his patented shit eating ear to ear grin with smiling eyes. I didn't even have time to tell him to get out when one of San Diego's finest was on us like flies to stink. He told us to get in the backseat as he notified the Shore Patrol. Pat decides to start singing as we waited for the SPs, and I convinced him to stop. The SPs soon arrived and in the back of the van we went and Pat decides to continue with his medley of songs. I tried to get him to stop (to lessen whatever was in store for us) as the SPs were also telling him to shut-up. But Pat was not to be denied as he continued with his drink-induced concerto of humorous songs. I apologized to the SPs about every two minutes on the way to the ship and they cut us some slack giving us the paperwork they'd written up for us to throw away-much to my relief-Pat was beyond giving a shit. All in all, we did enjoy ourselves, as we did most of the time.

Steve "Willy" Wilson, 4MMR

Found your WEB site - very interesting - brought back lots of memories - I was an ET3 working in #4 as an RO - was onboard from August 1964 thru late 1968 - looking forward to reunion in
Norfolk next summer - hope to see someone I know - could not find a 'guest book' on your site - is there someplace to signup?

Frank Willett
frank.willett@usa-spaceops.com

You just did!  I think you're our earliest RO!  Please send us some stories about the early steamin' days of The Big E.  It must have been nice to be an operator when everything worked in 4-plant..... (or did it?)  

KP

Okay, since the "topic" of you know what has been brought up I think I'll add a funny memory.  Those of you who were in my nuke school class will probably remember this one. Back when I was in A-School I invented a nickname for myself.  It was "Ten-Inch Tool-ee."  (Notice the spelling change to protect my innocence.)  This was a huge exaggeration but I figured, what the hey.  For some reason this nickname caught on and people called me "Ten-Inch."  It was a big ego booster, especially when women-folk were around.  One day my A-School roommate (8502's Bill Anders) modified the nickname to "Two-Inch."  I didn't care until one day I overheard two WAVES in Snipe's Castle talking.  One said, "Hey isn't that that Ten-inch Toolee guy."  And the other one said, "No I heard it was Two-inch Toolee!"  They both started laughing.  All I could do was hide my face in shame and curse my good for nothing roommate Bill Anders.  

Now fast forward about a year.  I'm in Orlando--doing the NPS thing.  People were still calling me "Ten-inch" (or two-inch, depending on who they were).  One night a bunch of us 8502B boys were tanking it up at the 84th Aerial Squadron and a girl I was hot on overheard someone call me "Ten-Inch."  She asked why they called me that and I said, "Gee, I have no idea!"  This was a bright girl so she asked, "Do you have a 10-inch you know what?" and I said yeah.  She then said, "Well then that's why they call you Ten-inch!"  I pretended to become enlightened and said, "Well I'll be damned.... so that's why!"  

Of course the story doesn't end there.  How could it?  I get this girl's phone number and actually call her up.  We make a date and she has to come and pick me up at the base the following Friday (since I didn't have a car).  We go on a date and things heat up a bit and toward the end we wind up in a park somewhere.  It's late at night and not another soul is around.  This girl is a bit aggressive and the next thing I know she's violating me.  I'll omit a few details here but the end result was the girl yells out, "OH MY GOD YOU REALLY DO HAVE A 10-INCH ****!"  I was surprised.  Mystified, really.  I then began to suspect that this poor girl was a poor estimator (or had no depth perception).  My only regret was that no-one else was around to hear her outburst.

Anonymous ....    

KP,

Read with interest the mention of "Napkin" Moore. The story I heard on how he got his name is pretty much the same as mentioned by Al Bemer on Page12. He was choking on the mess deck and the only word he could squeak out was "napkin." Napkin further maintained this nickname by eating like a Neanderthal. He would get food all over his face then demand "Napkin! Napkin!!" I was told this by a really gonzo RM type from 1 plant named Mark "The Rock" Vroman. Rock may not have done a lot, but whatever he did do was done at flank speed. To say that Rock was eccentric is akin saying that Hitler kind of didn't like a certain ethnic group within the German population. One of Rock's eccentricities was that he was a total Jethro Tull fanatic. He knew every word to every song.

One day at sea between my second and third cruises Rock was standing CTG watch. Some officer or another came down to do a zone inspection of that very location. He was only about 30 seconds into the inspection when he was called away for some emergency. In a desperate move the officer handed the clipboard and inspection form to Rock and asked him to conduct the inspection. BAD IDEA!! The Rock gladly accepted this honor and threw himself into the task with his usual single minded zeal.  When the officer returned a short time later he was pleased to see that Rock had two and a half neatly printed pages. He handed these to the officer with a courteous, "Here you are sir. As you requested." The officer could not believe his luck. Without reading it, he rushed the inspection form down to the Reactor office to have someone type it up. SECOND BIG MISTAKE. Whatever Yeoman typed this up either was a mind numb robot or had a real sense of humor, because he typed it up verbatim, affixed the officer's moniker to the bottom and posted it on a bulletin board. Word of the zone inspection report spread rapidly. Someone was nice enough to show me a copy. Each and every one of Rocks thirty plus entries made a reference to a Jethro Tull song. Too many years (and too many beers) prevent me from remembering them all, but here's a few that stood out: "The paint build-up on the door the EOS is "Thick as a Brick." The area around the 4000 gal. day tank has "Locomotive Breath," (And my favorite : #1 Bravo CTG has a bad case of the "Crocodile Nasties." (An obvious reference to "Bungle in the Jungle" - "The rivers are full of crocodile nasties. He who made kittens put snakes in the grass.")

I don't recall who that officer was, but I'm sure that to this day, he proof reads everything! Hey, I wasn't even involved and I learned a lesson.

An interesting post script to this story: Several years ago I was sitting in my living room reading a magazine and had the TV tuned in to the national news. I was not really paying attention to the TV. Then I heard the news anchor report that a key speaker at the Republican National Convention would be none other than "the Rock." Heinekin squirted out of my nose and I just about shit my pants! I then came to find out that this was a professional wrestler whom I had not yet heard of. The world started making sense again. It did, however, bring a big grin to my lips to think of the Rock I knew giving a speech to the Republican convention. I'm sure it would have been memorable. Lots of references to sex, drugs and Jethro Tull.

PP

Willy-4MMR

For anyone needing a reminder, here is a picture of Wayne McKinzey before the horrid banning of the beard.  Probably around 1984 or 1985

Mark

In cruising the seven odd seas, sailors must at times make a port call. Each port visited will have some facilities for sailors: Laundries, eating places, bars and brothels. I know there are some establishments in Alexandria that claim operation since the founding of that fair city a couple of millennia back. Several other around the med can claim a similar distinguished heritage. These historic (humpty dumpty from Italy?) places bring up some fond memories, and may indeed have a few lines in medical records for many of us. I would like to challenge my fellow nukes to name or describe the NASTIEST such establishment they remember. No easy pickup bars, no beach cruising spots; only the places with genuine in room services.

My vote for worst is one in Panama City. Not sure it had a name, but it serviced merchant sailors waiting for the canal passage. Maybe ten tables, small bar, Juke box, and a half dozen rooms at the back. One guy would walk out of a back room zipping up, and tap you on the shoulder to let you know it was your turn. This to save the working girls the trouble of climbing out of bed and walking the 6 feet to the door of the bedroom. A most interesting place for a bacteriologist.

Maybe some old salt can give us a story of the House of a Thousand Assholes, which yet lives green in Navy lore.

Ah, the things that come to mind with middle age.

Best wishes from Cruiser Ghost, and I hope to be enlightened by the memories of my comrades.

Matt Talbott EM-14 1997-2000
Matt170@webtv.net

Cruiser Ghost, sadly, another apparent client for the services of the Mooj. Whatever brought on such a surge of hedonistic memories...?

The nastiest thing I recall seeing along this vein (easy, boys) was the New Florida Club in Mombasa, Kenya. There was a little shack out back near the pool (which was drained), and it had a line in front of it. The management had provided free service for it's patrons who wished to partake. I abstained. You've got to be kidding me! Who would stoop that low? It was like a free pass to the shot line... No one I know personally went in (at least not that they would admit, anyway). Mike Noland? Where were YOU in 82? Not in THAT line, I suspect...

Arrgh!

Gents, I only read this stuff.  I am not worthy to contribute as I was never lucky enough to serve on the Big E.  I was an MM nuke on a fast attack out of Charleston.  However, this brothel thing is a topic I figure I can add to.  The strangest place I ever had sex with a prostitute was at her house.  I'll explain.  I met her at a bar in Rota, contracted her services so to speak, and then followed her home.  It was actually her parent's home.  The whole family was in the living room (mom, pop, brothers, sisters, grandparents, etc.) when we walked in.  I said Hi, they said Hi and the girl took me upstairs.  When we were done I followed the girl downstairs.  I said Hi again to everyone and they all said Hi back.  Man, I was trippin' 

You must keep this one anonymous. Once, when we hit port in Mombassa, a friend and I decided to try a tag team. The two of us and a chick. We found one who said she was willing. We all loaded up in a taxi and went to her house. All the way over, our hormones were building, as the excitement and the anticipation grew. When we got to her house, her parents and the whole family were there. The girl started talking to the parents in a language we couldn't understand. I was offered the younger sister, who couldn't have been more than 10 years old. She didn't even have any titties! I completely lost the urge, and declined the offer. I can't imagine what these parents were thinking.

I waited on the balcony overlooking downtown Mombassa while my buddy was in the girl's room with her, doing their thing. He came out and asked me if I wanted a turn, because he wasn't able to get into it and couldn't finish the job. I declined again; it was too much even for this crusty squid after the events a few minutes before with the parents and little sister.

My dreams of group sex have been dashed, and now that I'm married, they will probably never be fulfilled. Isn't that sad?

Names withheld by request

Man, not that I'm ashamed ..... but, well, you know.  Keep my name out of this okay?  In the Barrio there was this place that was know for it's famous "three hole" girls.  I went there and was asked by one of the bar girls if I wanted a 3-hole and I said sure.  We went in the back and began our business.  Since I bought and paid for a 3-hole I attempted such and the girl got mad and started yelling at me.  She told me I was sick and disgusting and that I would have to leave.  I guess it was all false advertising or something.

Name withheld by request

ARRGH,

Having the shot line form outside of the entrance to 4MMR was enough to keep me out of several lines. The look on the faces of those guys as I walked around them to go on watch was always priceless and the comments about cutting in line was worth it all.

Mr. McGoo and I went to a barrio with our girlfriends in PI and had to share a room with her little brothers and sisters ( Danny got the private room) and I awoke in the morning to find one of her little sisters in bed with us, learning the tricks of the trade!

Mike

Don't Go Anywhere!   Things Are Getting Good now ..... 

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