gkainz
Final Approach
from another old salt I still stay in touch with...
This goes out to you old salts out there who still remember
dixie cups and bell bottomed trousers, and can think back to a Navy that
once was. The language may be a bit coarse for some but like I said, it
could not be anyway else in that Navy of a bygone era. I tip my hat to
you, for you have certainly earned the title of the "Best Navy in the
World", and passed it down for younger sailors to keep and try to
uphold.
"Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave.
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep
Oh hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea."
PEACOATS
A few old memories here!!!
Peacoats -- One of God's Better Inventions
You remember them: Those ton and a half monsters that took the
annual production of thirty-five sheep to make. Those thick black
rascals with black plastic buttons the size of poker chips. The issue
coats that drove shore duty chief petty officers stark raving nuts if
they caught you with the collar turned up or your hands in your pockets.
"Hey, you rubber sock, get those damn hands outta them damn
pockets! Didn't they issue you black leather gloves?"
So, you took your hands out of your pockets and risked digital
frostbite rather than face whatever the Navy had in store for violators
of the 'No Damn Hands In Peacoat Pockets' policy. There's probably a
special barracks in Hell full of old E-3s caught hitchhiking in sub-zero
weather with hands in peacoat pockets. As for those leather gloves, one
glove always went missing.
"Son, where in the' hell are the gloves we issued you?"
Well? I don't remember this nasty, ugly so-n-so being at Great
Lakes or Bainbridge when the 'jocks and socks' petty officers were
throwing my initial issue sea bag at me and yelling, "Move it!!" As for
the gloves, once you inadvertently leave one glove on a bar stool or on
the seat of a Greyhound bus, the remaining glove is only useful if a
tank rolls over the hand that fit the lost glove.
In the days long ago, a navy spec. peacoat weighed about the
same as a flat carload of cinder blocks. When it rained, it absorbed
water until your spine warped, your shins cracked and your ankles split.
Five minutes standing in the rain waiting on a bus and you felt like you
were piggy-backing the Statue of Liberty. When a peacoat got wet, it
smelled a lot like sheep dip. It had that wet wool smell, times three.
It weighed three and a half tons and smelled like 'Mary had a little
lamb's gym shorts.
You know how heavy a late '50s pea coat was? Well, they had
little metal chains sewn in the back of the collar to hang them up by.
Like diluted Navy coffee, sexual sensitivity instruction, comfortable
air-conditioned topside security bungalows, patent leather
plastic-looking shoes and wearing white hats configured to look like
bidet bowls, the peacoat spec. has been watered down to the point you
could hang them up with dental floss. In the old days, pea coat buttons
and grocery cart wheels were interchangeable parts. The gear issued by
the U.S. Navy was tough as hell, bluejacket-tested clothing with the
durability of rhino hide and construction equipment tires.
Peacoats came with wide, heavy collars. In a cold, hard wind,
you could turn that wide collar up to cover your neck and it was like
poking your head in a tank turret. The things were warm, but I never
thought they were long enough. Standing out in the wind in those
'big-legged britches' the wind whistled up your cuffs and took away
body warmth like a thief. But, they were perfect to pull over you for a
blanket when sleeping on a bus or a bus terminal bench.
Every sailor remembers stretching out on one of those oak bus
station pews with his white hat over his face, his head up against his
AWOL bag and covered with his peacoat. There was always some 'SP' who
had not fully evolved from the apes, who poked you with his billy club
and said, "Hey, you! Get up! Waddya think yer doin'? You wanna sleep,
get a room!"
Peacoats were lined with quilted satin or rayon. I never
realized it at the time, but sleeping on bus seats and station benches
would be the closest I would ever get to sleeping on satin sheets.
Early in my naval career, a career-hardened (lifer) first class
gunner's mate told me to put my ID and liberty card in the inside pocket
of my peacoat. "Put the sonuvabitches in that gahdam inside pocket and
pin the damn thing closed with a diaper pin. Then, take your heavy
folding money and put it in your sock. If you do that, learn to never
take your socks off in a cathouse. Them damn dockside pickpockets pat
'cha down for a lumpy wallet and they can relieve you of said wallet so
fast you'll never know you've been snookered. Only an idiot will
clam-fold his wallet and tuck it in his thirteen button bell bottoms.
Every kid above the age of six in Italy knows how to lift a wallet any
fool pokes in his pants. Those little locals learned to pick sailor's
pockets in kindergarten. Rolling Bluejackets is the national sport in
Italy ."
In Washington DC they have a wonderful marble and granite plaza
honoring the United States Navy. Every man or woman who served this
nation in a naval uniform, owes it to himself or herself to visit this
memorial and take their families. It honors all naval service and any
red-blooded American bluejacket or officer will feel the gentle warmth
of pride his or her service is honored within this truly magical place.
The focal point of this memorial is a bronze statue of a lone
American sailor. No crow on his sleeve tells you that he is non-rated.
And, there are further indications that suggest maybe, once upon a time,
the sculptor himself may have once been an E-3 white hat.
The lad has his collar turned up and his hands in his pockets.
I'm sure the Goddess of the Main Induction laughs at the old,
crusty chiefs standing there with veins popping out on their old,
wrinkled necks, muttering, "Look at that S.O.B. standing there with his
collar up and his damn hands in his pockets. In my day, I would have
ripped that jerk a new one!" Ah, the satisfied glow of E-3 revenge.
Peacoats -- one of God's better inventions
A VETERAN... Whether active duty, retired, national guard or
reserve - is someone who, at one point in their life, wrote a blank
check made payable to "The United States of America" for an amount "up
to and including their life". That is HONOR, and there are way too many
people in this country who no longer understand it.
-Author unknown-
This goes out to you old salts out there who still remember
dixie cups and bell bottomed trousers, and can think back to a Navy that
once was. The language may be a bit coarse for some but like I said, it
could not be anyway else in that Navy of a bygone era. I tip my hat to
you, for you have certainly earned the title of the "Best Navy in the
World", and passed it down for younger sailors to keep and try to
uphold.
"Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave.
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep
Oh hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea."
PEACOATS
A few old memories here!!!
Peacoats -- One of God's Better Inventions
You remember them: Those ton and a half monsters that took the
annual production of thirty-five sheep to make. Those thick black
rascals with black plastic buttons the size of poker chips. The issue
coats that drove shore duty chief petty officers stark raving nuts if
they caught you with the collar turned up or your hands in your pockets.
"Hey, you rubber sock, get those damn hands outta them damn
pockets! Didn't they issue you black leather gloves?"
So, you took your hands out of your pockets and risked digital
frostbite rather than face whatever the Navy had in store for violators
of the 'No Damn Hands In Peacoat Pockets' policy. There's probably a
special barracks in Hell full of old E-3s caught hitchhiking in sub-zero
weather with hands in peacoat pockets. As for those leather gloves, one
glove always went missing.
"Son, where in the' hell are the gloves we issued you?"
Well? I don't remember this nasty, ugly so-n-so being at Great
Lakes or Bainbridge when the 'jocks and socks' petty officers were
throwing my initial issue sea bag at me and yelling, "Move it!!" As for
the gloves, once you inadvertently leave one glove on a bar stool or on
the seat of a Greyhound bus, the remaining glove is only useful if a
tank rolls over the hand that fit the lost glove.
In the days long ago, a navy spec. peacoat weighed about the
same as a flat carload of cinder blocks. When it rained, it absorbed
water until your spine warped, your shins cracked and your ankles split.
Five minutes standing in the rain waiting on a bus and you felt like you
were piggy-backing the Statue of Liberty. When a peacoat got wet, it
smelled a lot like sheep dip. It had that wet wool smell, times three.
It weighed three and a half tons and smelled like 'Mary had a little
lamb's gym shorts.
You know how heavy a late '50s pea coat was? Well, they had
little metal chains sewn in the back of the collar to hang them up by.
Like diluted Navy coffee, sexual sensitivity instruction, comfortable
air-conditioned topside security bungalows, patent leather
plastic-looking shoes and wearing white hats configured to look like
bidet bowls, the peacoat spec. has been watered down to the point you
could hang them up with dental floss. In the old days, pea coat buttons
and grocery cart wheels were interchangeable parts. The gear issued by
the U.S. Navy was tough as hell, bluejacket-tested clothing with the
durability of rhino hide and construction equipment tires.
Peacoats came with wide, heavy collars. In a cold, hard wind,
you could turn that wide collar up to cover your neck and it was like
poking your head in a tank turret. The things were warm, but I never
thought they were long enough. Standing out in the wind in those
'big-legged britches' the wind whistled up your cuffs and took away
body warmth like a thief. But, they were perfect to pull over you for a
blanket when sleeping on a bus or a bus terminal bench.
Every sailor remembers stretching out on one of those oak bus
station pews with his white hat over his face, his head up against his
AWOL bag and covered with his peacoat. There was always some 'SP' who
had not fully evolved from the apes, who poked you with his billy club
and said, "Hey, you! Get up! Waddya think yer doin'? You wanna sleep,
get a room!"
Peacoats were lined with quilted satin or rayon. I never
realized it at the time, but sleeping on bus seats and station benches
would be the closest I would ever get to sleeping on satin sheets.
Early in my naval career, a career-hardened (lifer) first class
gunner's mate told me to put my ID and liberty card in the inside pocket
of my peacoat. "Put the sonuvabitches in that gahdam inside pocket and
pin the damn thing closed with a diaper pin. Then, take your heavy
folding money and put it in your sock. If you do that, learn to never
take your socks off in a cathouse. Them damn dockside pickpockets pat
'cha down for a lumpy wallet and they can relieve you of said wallet so
fast you'll never know you've been snookered. Only an idiot will
clam-fold his wallet and tuck it in his thirteen button bell bottoms.
Every kid above the age of six in Italy knows how to lift a wallet any
fool pokes in his pants. Those little locals learned to pick sailor's
pockets in kindergarten. Rolling Bluejackets is the national sport in
Italy ."
In Washington DC they have a wonderful marble and granite plaza
honoring the United States Navy. Every man or woman who served this
nation in a naval uniform, owes it to himself or herself to visit this
memorial and take their families. It honors all naval service and any
red-blooded American bluejacket or officer will feel the gentle warmth
of pride his or her service is honored within this truly magical place.
The focal point of this memorial is a bronze statue of a lone
American sailor. No crow on his sleeve tells you that he is non-rated.
And, there are further indications that suggest maybe, once upon a time,
the sculptor himself may have once been an E-3 white hat.
The lad has his collar turned up and his hands in his pockets.
I'm sure the Goddess of the Main Induction laughs at the old,
crusty chiefs standing there with veins popping out on their old,
wrinkled necks, muttering, "Look at that S.O.B. standing there with his
collar up and his damn hands in his pockets. In my day, I would have
ripped that jerk a new one!" Ah, the satisfied glow of E-3 revenge.
Peacoats -- one of God's better inventions
A VETERAN... Whether active duty, retired, national guard or
reserve - is someone who, at one point in their life, wrote a blank
check made payable to "The United States of America" for an amount "up
to and including their life". That is HONOR, and there are way too many
people in this country who no longer understand it.
-Author unknown-
