Safari

By:  Garland Davis

Our ship was in Mombasa for a week. The Special Services Officer had set up a two-day camera safari in the Nairobi National Park which is unique as a protected area for a wide diversity of animal life. It is a successful rhino sanctuary and has an excellent record for supporting the species.

Since I had never been interested in the beer drinking and womanizing of my shipmates, the Chaplain’s assistant, a radioman that everyone suspected of being light in the loafers, the newest Ensign, and I signed up for the tour.

There was a tented camp within an enclosure where the tour overnighted. After dark, I was sitting outside my tent having a smoke listening to the animals in the night. The tour guide was also smoking before bed. He was in the tent beside me. He was telling me the names of the animals creating the sounds.

Suddenly there was a rumbling noise that shook the ground. Alarmed, I asked what it was. He said, “Not to worry. They are going the other way.”

“What is it?”, I asked.

“An elephant stampede.”, was his reply.

“Why, what causes them to stampede?”, I asked him.

He replied, “Probably some son-of-a-bitch upwind opened a can of peanuts.”

Little Eddie and the White Shoes

By:  Garland Davis

Eddie was a Radioman.  He was known as “Little Eddie” because of his diminutive size. He was barely five feet tall and weighed about ten pounds or so over a hundred pounds.  What was obviously a handicap in a bar fight became a positive advantage when it came to the ladies. They all loved Eddie and seemed to want to take him home and probably breast feed him like the baby he resembled.  He not only had a small body, he possessed a dimpled round baby face and a shock of almost white curly hair.  The bar girls just couldn’t keep their hands off him.  When he was serving in the old “Dicky” B Anderson, a bar girl in Kaohsiung fell in love with him and followed him all over town.  Eddie didn’t like her and tried to avoid her.  His shipmates would, laughingly, tell her where to find him. She burst into a hotel room while he was there in bed with another girl.  This caused the “cat fight” that became legendary throughout the squadron.

Because of his size, issue uniforms didn’t fit Eddie properly.  He looked as if he was a child attempting to wear his big brother’s clothes. Eddie had had his dress and working uniforms tailored in Hong Kong and Subic Bay.  He wore a size six shoe and usually had to special order them through the uniform shop.

Years later and in another ship Eddie was now a Chief Radioman.  His problems started with a new Captain.  The previous C. O. had a heart attack on the Navy Marine Golf Course at Pearl Harbor and was hospitalized.  The Executive Officer assumed command pending arrival of a new C. O.  After a few days, the new Skipper arrived.  He came aboard, told the X.O. to muster the crew in the well deck.  Before the crew was completely assembled, the Captain read his orders went to his cabin with the X.O. in tow.

The ship’s Bosun and I had been in the same boot camp company and were quite friendly.  He told me the new C. O. had been X. O. of the Kitty Hawk and had a real hard on for Chiefs.  We surmised that somewhere in the Captains career a Chief had fucked him over and he retaliated against any Chief who crossed him.

The next few days were busy with inspections of the ship by the Captain and briefings by Department Heads and Division Officers.  The X. O. scheduled a personnel inspection for Monday of the following week.  Eddie had been in the ship almost two years and bragged that he had never attended a personnel inspection.  He always dreamed up some reason to avoid the going.

The C.O. learned of Eddie’s boasts about not attending inspections and sent word to Eddie through the Division Officer that he would not only attend this inspection, but every inspection for as long as either of them were aboard.  Eddie wasn’t worried about the inspection. His wife washed and pressed his best white uniform and he cleaned and polished his white shoes in preparation. Everything was fine until Sunday afternoon when he came home to discover that his dog had chewed one of the shoes.  He didn’t have time to special order new ones.  He just decided to stop by the exchange and buy the smallest size they had.  A size or two too large didn’t matter.  He had worn oversize shoes most of his life. He rushed in, found a shoebox labeled “size 7 ½ and bought it without looking inside.

The morning of the inspection, the brown baggers were coming aboard with spotless uniforms in plastic covers and shoes in boxes and bags to protect the shine.  Little Eddie came into CPO berthing hung his uniform on his locker and placed the shoebox on his rack and went to have breakfast.  With a pristine uniform and new shoes, he had this inspection in the bag.

After breakfast, we started dressing for the inspection.  The berthing area and the head were crowded with all of us showering and getting dressed.  Suddenly there was a scream, Eddie was standing there yelling, “Oh, fuck me, No!  Fuck no!”  He had a white shoe in each hand.  Both were left shoes, one a size seven and the other a size twelve.

It was probably cruel, but I busted a gut laughing.  I laughed so hard, I almost passed out. The whole CPO mess fell apart.  Everyone was in stitches laughing.  All Eddie could do was stand there with a shoe in each hand and say “Fuck, I am fucked” over and over, as if it were a mantra.

The Senior Chief BT didn’t have to stand the inspection and, through fits of laughter, offered to loan Eddie his white shoes.  The BT’s nickname was “Brute.”  He was as large as Eddie was small.  Brute wore a size twelve shoe.  Eddie snatched at the straw being offered.  He stuffed the shoes full of socks and crammed his feet in and laced them as tightly as possible.  A comical sight indeed.  He could hardly walk without walking right out of the shoes.  He tore up newspaper and stuffed it in around his ankles. He was finally able to totter around slowly.  His ankles looked like swab handles standing up in two mop buckets.  Everyone broke down again.

The Chiefs proceeded to the pier trying to hold back the fits of laughter as Eddie clomped along trying not to walk out of Brute’s shoes.   It had been decided that the LPO’s would present the divisions and the Officers and Chiefs would fall in as distinct groups.  I think that was the most difficult time I have ever had maintaining military decorum.   Every time I thought of Eddie holding those two disparate shoes and yelling, “Fuck me!”, I almost broke down laughing.

When the Captain reached the Chiefs, everyone was at attention looking straight ahead.  I knew if anyone giggled, the whole group would dissolve in laughter.  I think not laughing was one of the hardest things I ever did.  The Captain moved through the ranks looking at each Chief, sometimes stopping to ask a question. When he reached Eddie, he stopped and stood there for a minute, then asked, “You want to tell me about the shoes Chief?” Then he broke down and started laughing.  The picture of this little Chief in the humongous shoes got us all started again. Any observer would have taken us for a group of mental cases, sans strait Jackets or a bunch of marijuana stoners on a laughing jag.    Eddie was the only one not laughing. He actually had tears running down his cheeks.

After the inspection, we were in CPO berthing, changing into work uniforms when the Communications Officer came to the door.  He had a message for Eddie from the Captain.  Eddie was excused from all future personnel inspections.

The Dreaded Colonoscopy

By: Garland Davis

As a person reaches into the fifth decade of life there comes a hurdle that we all are faced with.  The doctors have prescribed it until it has taken on the mantra of a rite of passage to older age.  I am talking about the dreaded colonoscopy.

It usually begins when your doctor asks if you have ever had the procedure done.  The doctor’s next step is to convince you that your health and possibly your very life depends upon another doctor shoving a flashlight and camera up your ass after inflating your guts like a balloon.  Panicked, I was ready to not only say no, but fuck no, until the doctor explains that they will sedate me and I will sleep through the whole procedure.  Relieved, I readily agree, figuring it will probably take a couple of months to get an appointment.  That will give me some time to talk with all the other old farts and get the low down on medical ass invasions.

As luck would have it, as I am preparing to leave, the doctor’s receptionist tells me that she called in my referral to the Colonoscopy section.  I am indeed fortunate, they have a cancellation Friday and I am already scheduled for the first thing that morning and must stop by for a pre-colonoscopy brief.  She tells me the clinic is just one level up and I can stop by on my way out.

I reluctantly wander into Colonoscopy (I am thinking so this is where doctors manage the health and wellbeing of assholes).  The nurse gives me a paper to fill out. I am sure you have seen similar ones.  They ask the same damn questions at every clinic in this freakin’ hospital every time you visit.  They have spent millions on computerizing medical records and still no one has this simple information at hand.  They ask you to list the medications and supplements that you are taking.  I suspect that no one reads these. I have been writing “Horseshit Capsules 200mg” under supplements for two years and no one has ever questioned me about it.

The nurse gives me a Digital Video Disk that explains the procedure. It turns out to be a cartoon about guts and an asshole.  She tells me that I may keep it.  She gave me a bottle of laxative and says drink this entire bottle, twenty-four hours before the scheduled event.  Next she gives me an empty gallon jug, no wait, there is about a cup of powder in it.  She instructs me to fill the jug with water and refrigerate it.   She recommends improving the flavor with Kool Ade or Crystal Light.  Eighteen hours before the exam, I was to drink half the jug as quickly as possible.  I wanted to ask if I could mix it with beer.  I would have a better chance of drinking a half gallon of beer quickly. She didn’t seem the type who could see the humor in that, so I kept my mouth shut.  Then twelve hours before the procedure I was supposed to empty the Jug.  You guessed it, as soon as possible.  I still think beer would be easier.  She also tells me not to eat anything for at least twenty-four hours before the exam.

Since I am scheduled for eight Friday morning, I eat breakfast at seven Thursday, figuring it will be at least a day before I can eat again.  At eight, I shake that bottle up and gulp the nasty crap down.  They said don’t eat.  Didn’t say anything about coffee. My gallon jug of water, powder, and lemonade flavor Crystal Light had been in the reefer for over a day.  I would have to drink half of it at two in the afternoon and the remainder at eight this evening.

I was reclined in my chair dozing and listening to a talk show on the radio.  Suddenly, I was hit with an excruciating pain in my lower regions.  My wife almost fainted when I jumped bolt upright, tearing at my belt as I ran for the toilet.  The only thing I can say is “Holy SHIT!”  I thought it would never stop.

My grandmother’s punishment for what she termed “little boys full of meanness” was a “good working out”, by which she meant a dosing with an elixir called Syrup of Black Draught or the dreaded Castor Oil.  My grandmother believed that a periodic purging made little boys much better behaved.  You know, she was right.  After a dosing of her laxatives, I was too weak to get into any mischief.   I’m glad that she never got her hands on this stuff.

After I thought I had survived the bottle of laxative it was time to drink a half gallon of the chilled liquid, which I reluctantly did.  At the time I would have bet you there was nothing left in my digestive system.  Boy was I wrong.  I never lost eye contact with the toilet for the next six hours when, you guessed it, time to drink the next half gallon.  I told you it was refrigerated.  It was still ice cold when I flushed it away.  I spent the next twelve hours within arm’s reach of that toilet bowl.  I was hoping the stock of toilet paper held out through the night.  I know they had to call in extra staff for the third shift at the waste water treatment plant.

Finally, morning came and time to leave for the Medical Center.  My wife came with me to drive me home because I would be under the influence of drugs, otherwise they wouldn’t release me for twelve hours.  I carried extra underwear and shorts.  I knew I was going to shit myself during the seven-mile drive to the hospital.  Fortunately, we made it to the first toilet inside the hospital entrance without a mishap.

Arriving at the Colonoscopy Clinic, I was handed a robe, a pair of paper slippers and told to go into a cubicle and get undressed.  There was a room with a TV where my wife could wait. I did as instructed and reported back to the desk.  I was directed into a curtained off area with bright lighting, a hospital type bed, and some tubing and other incomprehensible instruments.  I was instructed to climb onto the table.  The nurse wrapped a rubber band around my arm and put a blank IV lash-up into the inside of my left elbow.  The doctor come in and introduces himself.  He tells me to position myself on my left side.  He said we put the IV in to administer the sedative and in case I tear the colon and we have to take you up to surgery. “Surgery,” alarms bells were going off in my mind when the nurse said, “Now you will get a head rush from this,” and everything went black.

The next thing I remember is waking up with an almost painful need to fart.  But after my experiences during the past twenty-four hours, I was afraid.  The recovery room nurse told me, “If you feel the need to pass gas, go ahead, it is just the air used to distend your colon.”

From the sounds coming from the other patients in the recovery area, for a moment, I thought I was back in CPO Berthing on that old DD I served in during the end of the Viet Nam War.  I thought Oh, well and cut the absolute most satisfying fart I have ever experienced.

The nurse eventually told me I could get up and get dressed.  I did so thinking that maybe the preparation was worth the drugs. Oh! No! No fucking way.  There is no way anything could be worth twenty-four hours of trying to shit my tonsils.

I was told to wait in the room with my wife and the doctor would see me with the results soon.  It was twelve noon, my last meal was twenty-nine hours ago, there was nothing solid between my tonsils and my rectum.  I felt as if I had missed breakfast, dinner, supper and midrats.  I was as weak as a kitten. The TV was on the Food Network.  I don’t eat chicken but if someone had offered me fried buzzard that looked as good as what Bobby Flay was displaying, I may have had a piece or two.  I was so hungry.

The doctor finally called me in and started showing me photos of my innards.  He complemented me on the cleansing job.  As if I had had a choice! He told me that there were no polyps and I wouldn’t have to repeat the procedure for ten years.

I had her stop at McDonalds on the way home.  I bought and ate two Big Mac meals before we got home.

My next colonoscopy is only two years away.  Just thinking about it takes some of the happiness out of a Happy Birthday.

Cockroaches

By:  Garland Davis

Having been assigned as the Chief Cook in seven ships, the ship’s corpsman and I have been held responsible for cockroach infestations on four of the seven.  The XO had to lay the blame on someone; the cockroaches hung out around the Galley and mess decks; I was in charge of those spaces; Doc was responsible for pest control; ergo we must be the cause of the cockroach infestation.

The ATA that I served in didn’t have cockroaches.  The son of a bitch rolled so bad sitting alongside the pier that any cockroaches that did get aboard became seasick and immediately went ashore. The two FF’s I rode out of Yokosuka never really had a roach problem.  We figured the cockroaches hated the top-heavy mothers as much as we did.

The Forrest Sherman class can that I rode was cockroach heaven.  I think that when cockroaches were killed anywhere in the fleet, instead of going to heaven, they came to the Morton.  Either that or we had the horniest cockroaches in the fleet.  I think it was a combination of both.  We got back two for every one we killed.   The XO made the Doc come onto the pier and spray boxes when we were loading stores to prevent getting cockroaches aboard.  It was akin to turning off the faucet to the sink when the bathtub was over flowing.  We cleaned, we sprayed and nothing seemed to help.  I found that a live steam hose was more effective than any poison.

The crew was so used to the cockroach infestation that comments like this were heard:  “Fuck man, there’s a cockroach in my salad.”  “Don’t worry he won’t eat much.” or “Fuck, I didn’t get one.”

A cockroach is strolling across the deck.  A crewmember tells it, “If you walk on this tile, I am going to stomp your ass.”  And lets it live if it avoids the tile.

During GQ while on the gun line, to amuse themselves, the members of Repair II capture a half dozen roaches and paint different colors on their backs. They put them in an empty can, draw a circle on the deck, bet on the colors, dump the roaches in the center of the circle; the first one out of the circle won the bet.

The largest infestation in Midway was in the after Bakeshop.  The lagging was ripped and torn and the bugs had worked their way in and were impossible to eradicate.  The only solution was to rip out the lagging and replace it.  Fortunately, we had two bakeshops.  We secured the aft shop, formed a tiger team of cooks and mess cooks and ripped out the lagging, preserved and repainted the bulkheads, laid down a spray of residual cockroach poison and lagged the space.  That solved our cockroach problem.  During the ’82 Ney Award inspection, the inspector from BuMed was surprised that he was unable to find any cockroaches, especially on a ship as old as Midway.  He mentioned this to Captain Owens during the de-brief.  Owens blew out a mouthful of cigar smoke and said, “You want to see cockroaches? Come on back to my pantry.”

Archeologists have found fossils of cockroaches over sixty-six million years old.  Cockroaches survived the calamity that led to the extinction of the dinosaurs, numerous ice ages, floods, volcanoes, wars, and even nuclear explosions.  A cook with a steam hose and a corpsman with a spray can did not stand a fucking chance.

But in perspective, the cockroaches aboard our ships were midgets compared to some I have seen in the tropics.  There are cockroaches in the PI large enough to stand flat-footed and fuck a Chihuahua.

Albatross

By:  Garland Davis

Silent but for the wind and rigging

Single bird against the dawn sky

As in days of light and warmth

Before the coming of the dark and cold

Before the sailor’s lament

And letting go